


Do You Still Believe?

by Yami Bakura (Siyah_Kedi)



Series: Believe [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-26
Updated: 2012-04-26
Packaged: 2017-11-04 09:21:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 33,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/392253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siyah_Kedi/pseuds/Yami%20Bakura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry is a lone-wolf auror, and Shacklebolt forces an unwanted partner onto him. What are they to do when neither wants the partnership, but no one can deny that they're brilliant together?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Technically one of my favourites out of the masses of crap I've written over the years, but still not among my best work. I've been out of the HP fandom for a long time, and I don't have enough time right now to go through this for edits. Apologies in advance if something is misspelled or just plain wrong; I'll go over it again when I've got more time.

**_Do you still remember all the time that has gone by?  
Do you still believe that love can fall out from the sky?  
If from where you're standing, you can see the sky above  
I'll be waiting for you, if you still believe in love_**  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
The morning dawned bright, early, and entirely too sunnily for Harry's foul disposition. Not that he had any reason to be in a foul mood; it was simply a state of being for him.   
  
He'd gone into work an hour before anyone else was even hoped to be there, and at least three hours before the majority of his office were scheduled in, and he'd been finishing the paperwork that he needed to catch up on. Paperwork in the Auror Corps was a complete waste of time, as far as Harry was concerned, as the same thing needed to be gone over again, and again, and again, on five different sheets of paper, with twenty different questions, all asking the same thing over and over again. What happened, and when and how?  
  
He usually let it pile up for a week, and then pulled all-nighters or early mornings like this one to finish it all. He didn't need to write it down immediately; he had an eidetic memory, and could recall details from cases he'd closed years ago. As an Auror, no one had a better record, and no one had a worse reputation. Hermione had gone mad under Cruciatus during the war, and Ron was dead, killed in the final show down between himself and Voldemort, and Harry saw no need to allow anyone else into his life. He was an auror because he had nothing else, and he was a good auror because he just didn't care.   
  
He didn't care if he was late, or early, or whether or not he didn't make his mark. He didn't care if he almost died, and he didn't care who they partnered him with. Nothing mattered, except his job, and he did it with exception.   
  
Kingsley Shacklebolt, head of the Auror Corps, London, wandered in shortly after Harry, still a good fifteen minutes before the earliest of the early birds were due in. "Potter," he said by way of greeting, unsurprised to see the dark-haired young man sitting at his desk. "Are you still here, or did you just get here?"  
  
"I've been here about half an hour," Harry answered truthfully, without taking his eyes off his papers.  
  
Shacklebolt sighed, rummaged around a bit, and then stood near Harry's desk for a good five minutes. Harry supposed he was waiting for Harry to initiate the conversation, to ask why he was there, but Harry wasn't going to give him the satisfaction. If he had something to discuss, he'd discuss it, whether Harry participated in said discussion or not.   
  
Finally, when other people started trickling into the office, and Harry still hadn't initiated conversation, Shacklebolt wandered off to do whatever it was he did during the day. Harry sighed, wondering what that waste of time had been all about, and returned to his paperwork.  
  
*  
  
By mid-afternoon everyone was back from break, and Tonks had been called out to the streets to deal with some minor tussles, and Harry was finished with his paperwork. Having nothing better to do, he climbed out of his desk chair and was making his way towards the coffee pot when a small paper bird fluttered into his face. He smacked at it, before realizing that it was a message from Shacklebolt, who preferred origami cranes to paper airplanes as a means of communication. There was something vaguely familiar about the bird, but the message was more important than the means in any case.   
  
_Potter,_ it read in a lazy scrawl. _Shacklebolt needs you in his office urgently. Don't waste time._ It was unsigned, and Harry wondered who in their right mind would dare to send him a note such as this one, especially on a paperwork day. Scowling, he delegated the remains of the bird into the nearest rubbish bin, and made his way towards Shacklebolts office. It was the one true office on the floor, the rest of the room comprised of double-wide cubicles. Harry mostly ignored the other desk in his cubicle, seeing as how it was more often than not empty. He had no desire for a partner, and on the few occasions they deigned to foist one off on him, he made short work of getting rid of them.   
  
Irritably, he shoved open the door to Shacklebolt's office, and slammed it behind him, ignoring the whispers that flew furiously behind his back.   
  
"Have a seat, Potter," Shacklebolt said easily, and one of the chairs pushed itself out invitingly. Harry glowered at it, opting to remain standing.   
  
"You called?" he prompted darkly. Shacklebolt sighed, leaning forward over his desk and steepling his fingers together in front of his face.   
  
"I have something very important to ask of you," he said, and Harry immediately knew that they were going to attempt to foist another partner onto him.   
  
"No," he said, and turned around to leave. The door clicked locked, and Harry turned back to see Shacklebolt's wand pointed past him at the door.  
  
"You are not leaving this office until you hear me out, unless you are willing to leave your job here with you!" He rose to his feet menacingly, and Harry was made aware of how small he remained, despite being nearly twenty four. Refusing to let Shacklebolt cow him into accepting an unwanted partner, Harry boldly yanked the other chair loose of it's position, and sank into it.   
  
"Talk then, Shacklebolt," he said, looking disinterested.   
  
Shacklebolt clasped his hands on the desk, and began explaining.  
  
*  
  
Outside the door, the waiting person Harry had stalked past without even a cursory glance leaned back against the wall, trying to eavesdrop without seeimg too conspicuous about it. He heard the lock click, and wondered what had been said.  
  
A few minutes later, he heard Harry's voice raised in protest.  
  
"Absolutely not!"   
  
"Harry, hear me out!" Shacklebolt said, sounding frustrated.   
  
"I'm not going to take on one of your charity cases, Kingsley!" Harry shouted. "I don't care how much of a fan he is, or how much he's willing to donate to your worthy cause, or even if he's the Prime Minister of muggles himself, I'm not taking on a partner. I don't want a partner!"  
  
"You not only need a partner, I think that if you stop suffocating your human emotion you'll see that you truly crave the companionship-"  
  
"Don't try to tell me what I need or don't need, _Shacklebolt_ ," Harry hissed angrily, and even the listener cringed away from the unadulterated hate for a moment. "You've never known what's up your ass, much less what I need."   
  
"You _need_ a partner, Potter," Shacklebolt repeated almost calmly. "You need someone to help you with your cases, to file some of the paperwork every once and a while, to take the stress off of you. You're going to kill yourself-"  
  
"Then I'll die," Harry said dispassionately.   
  
"Look, I know you'll never do it for yourself, so do it as a favour to the Ministry, Harry." Holding up a hand to ward off the disgusted scoff that was coming, he went on. "This man needs our protection, and well, I'd rather see him under our roof, abiding by our laws, than out running the streets somewhere where we may one day have to kill him."  
  
"So it's just a little babysitting," Harry sneered. "I don't care if this is Albus Dumbledore himself back from the dead, I don't wa- I don't need a partner!"  
  
Outside, he flinched. For Harry to have brought up Dumbledore in a conversation like that...   
  
"Look, Harry," Shacklebolt said, his tone suddenly wheedling. "If you take him on for one year - one standard training year, as a rookie with a veteran Auror, you're free, we'll find him a new partner, and you can forget you ever had him."  
  
There was no immediate refusal this time, and he wondered if Harry was considering this. Shacklebolt pounced on the opportunity, and began in a saccharine tone, "Harry, we'll give you a great, big fat bonus each month that you have him on as your partner."  
  
Oh great, he was being offered a bribe to take a partner. What was he getting himself into, asking for Potter this way?  
  
"And a raise on top of that," Shacklebolt said, and Harry almost spoke over him.  
  
"Alright, fine, who is he?"  
  
Almost unable to believe his luck, Shacklebolt checked the clock. It had taken just over an hour to convince Harry to take on the young man as his partner, which was a lot quicker than most had been anticipating. Most of the office guesses ran from about two hours to five, and the rest said that he wouldn't ever accept the partner.  
  
"He's sitting outside the office right now," Kingsley said, almost congenially. "You must have passed him on your way in."  
  
Harry wracked his brain, but couldn't recall seeing anyone outside before he'd stormed the office. Of course, he'd been so intent on getting to Shacklebolt that Voldemort himself could have been sitting in the chair, and Harry wouldn't have noticed. Yanking the door open, he looked around briefly, before his eyes fell onto the familiar occupent of the chair.  
  
"Hello, Harry," Draco Malfoy said brightly.


	2. Partners

**_And you're opening my eyes  
And you're leading me on  
And I'm following the light  
That you shone on me_**  
 _Caroline Lost - Stars_  
-o0o-  
  
  
Potter's look turned murderous, and he shot a dark glance over his shoulder at Shacklebolt. Draco actually recoiled into the back of the chair he was still sitting in, bringing his hands up in a defensive movement. Potter snarled silently, his lips twisting up into a foul parody of a smile.  
  
  
  
"You must be joking," he said laconically, oddly calm after his display of physical temper.  
  
  
  
"Certainly not," Shacklebolt said tensely, waiting to see whether or not Harry would fight him again, or simply tear Malfoy's throat out there in the corridor. "He passed the entrance examinations beyond our wildest expectations, and has need of an experienced partner in the field. And _you_ need someone to take half the paperwork, and bounce ideas off of. All the _bonuses_ of having a partner, _raising_ your case percentage." The carefully stressed words reminded Harry of the monetary compensation he was taking on for dealing with the unwanted partner. Suddenly the exorbitant amounts Shacklebolt had promised made sense. His rivalry with Malfoy in school had been legendary, and had passed into mythical status around the Auror's department. He'd been offered bonuses for partners before, but not such large ones.  
  
  
  
Draco simply smiled calmly, the barest twitch of his lips betraying his amusement at the situation. He felt no compunctions about letting Shacklebolt defend him to the Golden Boy. Harry swore again, and then subsided with a sharp nod. "Fine," he said curtly. "This way." He stalked off without waiting to see if Draco would follow him.   
  
  
  
He swept into his cubicle like a storm, and threw himself into his seat, muttering dire imprecations about the fate Shacklebolt would meet in a dark alleyway some night. Malfoy followed him at a more sedate pace, and looked around. There were not hints of personal effects in attendance. No family pictures, no Orders of Merlin, not even a jacket draped over the back of the chair. The entire cubicle was covered in reports of Dark Wizard sightings, bad magic crosses, old case files that remained open and unsolvable. Above the desk Potter wasn't occupying were pictures, Draco noticed at last. Victims, he realised after a moment, as their dates of birth and death were listed below them. Most were children, or teenagers, looking out of the photographs with hollow eyes and down-turned lips. Both desks were stacked with papers, organised into tidy little piles with sticky notes on them. Draco leaned over and read a few of them. Unsolvable, Open, Closed, Case Reports...   
  
  
  
Potter was furiously scribbling on a piece of paper. On closer inspection, Draco realised he could make out words, and that it was actually the report he'd been in the middle of when he'd been interrupted. His handwriting showed a marked difference from before the delay. Before he'd come back to the cubicle so angry, his handwriting was neat and legible. After being saddled with Draco, it had turned into the familiar chicken-scratch he recalled from Hogwarts.   
  
  
  
"Come away at once," Draco announced, steeling himself not to flinch under the force of the dark glare Potter tossed at him.   
  
  
  
"Excuse me?" The arch tone brooked no argument - from any lesser beings.  
  
  
  
"You're too angry to write at the moment, and I completely understand. When I asked for the best Auror in Britain, I was hardly expecting you. I'd rather been hoping for cousin Nymphadora." This was a complete lie; he was gratified by the fact that he recalled his cousin's name at all.   
  
  
  
"She prefers Tonks." Potter bit out, and then threw the pen down with such force that Draco was tempted to check the desk for dents afterwards. "And I don't have time for a break. I've got to get this paperwork done."   
  
  
  
"If you'd do it on time, you wouldn't be stuck with such overwhelming piles," Draco pointed out neatly, determined to remain affable despite Potter's manner.   
  
  
  
"I work best this way," the dark-haired man announced. "Alone."   
  
  
  
"No one's ever going to measure up to Weasley and Granger," Draco said suddenly. Potter's dazzlingly green eyes narrowed to slits. "Even I know that. But I don't want to be measured by their yardstick. I'm never going to replace them, and I don't want to, even if I thought I could. I'm here to learn how to be an Auror from the best, and I intend to be good at it. Your antagonism isn't doing either of us any good."   
  
  
  
Potter stared at him as if he'd suddenly sprouted another head, but inclined his head in acquiescence. Standing suddenly, he said, "Fine. I'll take a break. Ten minutes."   
  
  
"Thirty, or I'm taking your paperwork from you." Draco shot back, recalling the old days when they'd be hurling hexes at one another by this point. Harry considered, and then scowled.  
  
  
  
"Fifteen minutes," he offered, voice flinty.  
  
  
  
"Twenty five," Draco countered instantly. He wouldn't work with someone who couldn't relax, and wouldn't. Potter would loosen up or shatter; especially working with Draco.   
  
  
  
"Twenty minutes, and not a second more," Potter said at last, and ended the argument by leaving the cubicle and vanishing down one of the many hallways that criss-crossed the Auror's department. Draco reeled for a moment under the force of his sudden victory, and then hurried after his new partner.


	3. Quest

**_Guess I don't know what's, left to say  
But hear me out  
All of the dreams of, yesterday  
Keep breaking me down  
What's on the outside, can you say  
Or am I getting carried away _**  
_Vertical Horizon - Goodbye Again_  
-o0o-  
  
  
Harry strode down the corridor as if he owned it, leaning slightly when he had to go around someone, without seeming to give ground to them. Part of his mind was telling him that he was going to have to check his stride, and make sure he didn't leave Malfoy behind at a crucial juncture on the job; rookie or not, he'd been through training, and whether or not Harry liked it, he was stuck with the other man for a year.   
  
  
  
He'd honestly been surprised when Malfoy mentioned Hermione and Ron; it was something he tried not to think about, except on those two days a year he took off, to visit Hermione in the hospital - not that she noticed him - and to lay flowers on Ron's grave.   
  
  
  
Thinking about it reminded him that it was coming up on the first of those days. He didn't bother putting word in with anyone - they were all aware that he took exactly two personal days a year, and for what reasons. Malfoy would have to be told, he thought suddenly, and his face twisted up into a fierce scowl. _Let someone else tell him,_ he decided, and then heard rapid footsteps coming up behind him.  
  
  
  
Breathlessly, Malfoy put a hand out to stop him. "This isn't a race, Potter," he said, and after a moment seemed to regain his composure. "The twenty minutes isn't going anywhere fast."   
  
  
  
"Waste of time," Harry bit out stubbornly. These were twenty minutes he could be spending getting through the desk-full of paperwork that had piled up over the course of the last week. He was going to have even more to do after this, too, with Malfoy's induction into partner-hood with him. Why Shacklebolt couldn't do it himself, Harry didn't know. He was the one who assigned partners, he could at least take the time to fill out the paperwork for the official records.   
  
  
  
"Necessary," Malfoy countered easily. "If you drop dead of exhaustion in the middle of a case because of this mad schedule you seem to keep, you're not going to do anyone any good."   
  
Harry's breath escaped in a whoosh of air that ruffled his fringe. It was an almost physical pain to admit, but Malfoy had a point. "It's worked so far," he pointed out, lifting an eyebrow. Out of the corner of his eyes, he was aware that they were attracting an audience. His rows with former partners were also the stuff of legend; blatant exaggeration rarely did them justice. On his good days, Harry felt amused that he was the sole source of entertainment for the entire department of magical law enforcement. Contrary to the inauspicious start, he actually felt that this was going to be a good day.   
  
  
  
Malfoy echoed his sigh. "Exactly," he said. " _So far,_ it's worked. But no matter how much I disliked you in school, I'm not going to allow any partner of mine to work himself to death. You seem reconciled to the notion, but do you have any idea how that would go over with the press? I can see the headlines now." Malfoy spread his hands in a dramatic gesture. "Boy Who Lived Murdered On Job by Malfoy Heir."  
  
  
  
Harry _almost_ chuckled, before he caught himself, and reminded himself that not only was he ruining his humourless reputation, this wasn't Ron, or one of the Weasley's he was talking to - it was Malfoy. His unwanted partner.   
  
  
  
He sobered so abruptly that it was like someone had dumped an _aguamenti_ spell over his head. Malfoy cocked his head curiously at the change in his expression, but said nothing, to Harry's immense relief.   
  
  
  
"Now, coffee." Malfoy said, steering Harry into the break room. Harry lifted an eyebrow.   
  
  
  
"Heathen. Sit down and have a cup of tea like a proper Englishman." The words were teasing, and he modified his tone to sound scathing instead of friendly. Malfoy smiled easily despite the harsh words, the expression foreign on his face to Harry.   
  
  
  
"You sit down. I'll get you your English tea. How do you take it?" He busied himself at the kettle, filling it with water, and Harry obediently settled himself at the nearest table. It had been longer than he could remember since he'd had someone so... at ease with him. Half the M.L.E. was scared stiff of him, and the other half was so dazzled by his hero status that they all but scraped and bowed at his feet. Shacklebolt had been the only person to treat him as a _person_ and not a monster or a god, but not even he lowered himself so far as to make tea.  
  
  
  
"Milk and two sugar," Harry said, drawing himself out of his ruminations long enough to answer. Malfoy danced lightly to a tune only he could hear, and Harry snorted. "You've changed," he noted. Malfoy turned stormy grey eyes on him.  
  
  
  
"So have you," he said, and poured his coffee into a mug, inhaling the scent with relish before tipping it to his lips. Harry scoffed again, making a wordless sound of disgust in his throat.   
  
  
  
"Filthy stuff," he muttered, and stood to get the kettle when it started whistling. Malfoy shook his finger admonishingly.   
  
  
  
"This is your break. Sit _down._ " He took another mug down, and prepared Harry's tea, before setting it in front of him. Harry sniffed it delicately before he drank; he'd been watching Malfoy the whole time, but old habits died hard. In this case - never accept anything from your enemy - it shook him for a moment. Malfoy wasn't his enemy any more. It had been seven years since Hogwarts. The blond was smiling, and dancing, and just seemed so... _relaxed._ It was so incompatible with the picture of Malfoy Harry had carried since school that it was like dealing with an entirely different person. Setting the cup down, he cleared his throat, feeling odd as he initiated a friendly conversation for the first time in what was probably years.  
  
  
  
"So what have you been doing with yourself since school?" _Since the war_ was what he'd actually meant to say, but the words rearranged themselves between his brain and his mouth. To prevent any other telling slips from sneaking out, he busied himself with his tea.  
  
  
  
"This and that," Malfoy hedged, and then sighed. "I'm in the process of testing for my Potions Mastership," he elucidated. "I've got several more months of waiting, and decided to try something a bit different in the interim."   
  
  
  
Harry barked out a laugh before he could stop himself. "So you enlisted in the single most dangerous profession you could think of?"   
  
  
  
Malfoy's lips curled into a familiar smirk. Harry felt better now that they were on more natural territory. "It's something to do," he said. "And it's good enough for you."   
  
  
  
Harry set his mug down abruptly. "Times up," he said, and stood before Malfoy could contradict him. As he hurried down the corridor, he tried to tell himself he wasn't running away. When his brain rejected that platitude outright, he decided he was indeed running away, because the alternative was facing a Malfoy who didn't hate him.  
  
  
  
Where had the universe gone so wrong, that Hermione was in St. Mungo's, Ron was dead, and Malfoy was trying to be his friend? He gathered up the required paperwork he had yet to complete, and skated out of the building, blithely ignoring the secretary's admonishment that all paperwork was to be completed while on the premises. As soon as he was free of the building, he Aparated home, leaving his partner behind and not caring a whit.  
  
  
  
-o0o-  
  
  
  
Draco felt more than heard the pop of apparition that signified Potter was no longer on the premises. Heaving a sigh, he tried to figure out where he'd gone wrong. Shacklebolt had won a promise from him that their school-days would not be repeated here, and he'd done his best to be as least antagonising as he knew how to be, while still retaining himself. The last thing he wanted was to act the angel, and have Potter turn on him if his real personality slipped out unexpectedly. So he'd won himself a satisfying mix of himself and polite-to-Potter, and had it backfire in his face. Much like his last potion, he thought ruefully, rubbing his chin. It was the grounds for failure of the test, and the reason he'd taken the Auror's examination. He had exactly one year in which to perfect his Potions-making before he could retake the Mastership test, and after several days of wringing his hands, wondering what he was going to do for an entire _year_ \- he knew he was good with Potions, he knew he didn't need the time to perfect it, and he knew what had gone wrong with the potion that that destroyed nearly half of the testing room and rendered the other half unusable - and finally his mother, fed up with his constant whinging, had shoved an Auror application under his nose and told him to get out of the house for a little while.  
  
  
  
He'd gone down to the nearest pub and poured his troubles out to a mug of muggle beer - his one vice, one he partook of sparingly - and finally the bartender, also fed up with him, had told him to just file the application and be done with it. The worst that could happen is that he'd be turned away. Half-expecting the result to be just that, he filed the application, and was scheduled for the month-long course that would introduce him to the rigours of Auror life, and test his ability to do the job. While in the office, he'd noticed Potter, and suddenly recalled that he'd taken an Auror job after the defeat of the Dark Lord. Some discreet poking around revealed that Potter was a damned good Auror, but one who was driving himself to death with his work.   
  
  
  
More investigations found him out the fates of his two hangers-on in school, and he realised that Potter was punishing himself for their deaths. The idea stole into his head in the dead of night, presenting itself subtly with the thought that he could regain some of the Malfoy's social standing if he could become the Man Who Saved the Boy Who Saved the World from self-destructing.   
  
  
  
He'd contacted Kingsley Shacklebolt the very next day and requested Potter as his partner. The Auror head had tried to dissuade him at first; Potter was intolerable to his partners, and usually drove them away within the first month. Draco was insistent, but refused to lower himself to bribing the other man. He simply held onto the idea, and reminded Shacklebolt at every opportunity that when he passed his exams - which, if his trainers were correct, he was going to do beyond passably well - he wanted Potter for a partner. He'd finally caved the day Draco accepted his certificate for the successul completion of the Auror training courses, and promised that he would do his best to convince Potter to take a rookie Auror on as a partner, but the man's reputation when dealing with partners was legendary, and Draco shouldn't expect too much.  
  
  
  
This was intriguing in itself; Draco had always known that Potter relied on his two friends for their support, and had heard vague references to the war, which would have been lost if not for their assistance. He wondered what could have happened to Potter, despite the death and hospitalising of his two best friends, that had changed him so completely from the boy Draco thought he'd known from Hogwarts. His desire to take Potter as his partner had only increased.  
  
  
  
And now he found himself exactly where he'd wanted to be - something to occupy his time in the year before his next Potion Masters test, a quest to restore the Malfoy's good name, and a personal mystery to solve.


	4. Mystery

**_So sacrifice yourself  
And let me have what's left  
I know that I can find  
A fire in your eyes  
I'm goin all the way  
Get away, please_**  
 _Breaking Benjamin - Breath_  
-o0o-  
  
  
  
Harry had the paperwork back at the office and on Shacklebolt's desk before midnight struck. He returned to his home, and settled himself in for a sleepless night.   
  
  
  
Tomorrow was the day he would visit Ron's grave.   
  
  
  
-  
  
  
  
He awoke with the sun, and dressed silently. This would make eight years since Ron's death, and he allowed himself a moment to wonder what his best friend would have done with those eight years. Would he have gone into Quidditch? Or joined Harry in the Aurors? For that matter, if it hadn't been for the loss of his two friends, would he have joined the Aurors at all?   
  
  
  
_No use crying over spilt pumpkin juice,_ his subconscious reminded him, sounding despairingly like Hermione. _What's done is done. This is the life you have now. Deal with it._  
  
  
  
Several years ago, he'd gone with the Weasleys to visit their son and brother's grave. After a while, they stopped coming, one by one, as the pain of loss eased, and they moved on with their lives. Occasionally Harry found flowers or other offerings on the gravesite, and realised that he wasn't the only one who still visited, but he was always alone these days. If there were already people there when he arrived, he hung back until they left. He had no desire to share his treasured memories of the red-headed lad with any one. They were his, some of the only things he had left to call his own.   
  
  
  
Apparating to the cemetary, his feet found the path to Ron's grave on their own, while his mind wandered. He knelt beside the stone, engraved with "War Hero" on Harry's insistence. "Hello mate," he said softly. "Been another year. I'm still with the Aurors. I guess it's going alright. Would have been better with you there, but you knew that already." He laid the flowers down, letting them rest against the headstone. "I've a new partner again." If he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine that he was sitting there next to his old friend, beside the lake outside Hogwarts, and they were just talking about their day. His voice eased as he spoke, imagining what Ron would say to him if he were there. "You'll never guess who it is. Draco Malfoy. I can't understand him at all," Harry continued. "He's trying to become a Potions Master, like Snape, but then he suddenly applied to be an Auror. And I got saddled with him. I wish you were here, mate," he said softly, opening his eyes as a soft rain began to fall. "You'd remember all the old names we used to call him. I can't think of a single one."   
  
  
  
The rain mingled with his tears, slipping hotly down his cheeks, as he stared at the arched stone marker.  
  
  
  
-o0o-  
  
  
  
Draco arrived punctually at eight o clock, dressed in the standard uniform of slacks and a button down shirt. He'd brought his robes with him, to be worn if he were sent out of the building, but it was generally accepted that while you were inside, muggle clothes were fine.   
  
  
  
The first thing he did was clear the paperwork out of Potter's cubicle. He'd brought a filing cabinet in with him, and he set it up in the corner before filing everything away where it was supposed to be, and getting it off the desks and walls and floor. He rearranged the desks slightly so that they were even, and pressed against the far wall, leaving extra space at the entrance to the cubicle for a coat rack or a plant. That done, he pulled out some family pictures, and laid them on his desk - Narcissa and Lucius' wedding day, and a family portrait taken just before he entered Hogwarts. He took down the pictures of the victims, and filed them into the cabinet; Potter might appreciate knowing that he failed, but Draco's nerves would be shot after the first day if he had to sit there and work with those faces staring sadly down at him.   
  
  
  
He'd ordered a floral and fragrant plant, as well as a few other personal effects via the floo, and they were delivered shortly afterwards by owl. The rest of the Aurors in attendance watched helplessly as he refit the cubicle to his liking. Finally, after an hour, the staring got to him.   
  
  
  
"Can I help you lot, or are you expecting the Dark Lord to jump out of my skin?" he asked facetiously. Shacklebolt had made him promise to make nice with Potter; that didn't mean he had to be busom buddies with the entire department.   
  
  
  
One nervous looking chap stepped forward, clearing his throat. "I, well, that is, we, uh - that's dangerous," he finally managed. Draco raised an eyebrow at his manner.  
  
  
  
"I assure you, the plant is entirely safe," he said. The man shook his head.  
  
  
  
"Not that." He swallowed rhythmically, something that was already getting on Draco's nerves. How did this man become an Auror in the first place? He looked as though a tap on the shoulder from behind would give him a heart attack. "This," he said, and gestured broadly to the cubicle, which was now nearly unrecognisable. "He's not going to like it."   
  
  
  
"He all but bit my head off for putting up a picture of my mum," one witch said, stepping forward. "And now you've gone and changed everything." She sighed shudderingly, looking around the cubicle with thinly veiled horror.  
  
  
  
Draco smirked, lifting his chin defiantly. "He's stuck with me for a year whether he likes it or not. He's not getting rid of me that easily." He caught a glimpse of the clock out of the corner of his eye, and turned to look. "Where is he, anyway? I was given to believe he was rather punctual."  
  
  
  
The group shared a nervous glance, before the witch spoke again. "He's not coming today," she mumbled.   
  
  
  
"Is he sick?" Draco asked archly, irritated when the lot of them shook their heads. "Well, did he fall off a bridge?" Another group head-shake. Draco's patience was wearing thin. "Well then, where is he?"  
  
  
  
"It's the thirteenth of February," the nervous wizard offered. "He's always gone two days every year, without fail. The thirteenth and the twenty seventh of February." He swallowed again when Draco's hawk-eyed gaze fell on him.  
  
  
  
"Why?" he snapped. They all averted their eyes from him. "I assure you that if I need to find this out on my own, I will not hesitate to hex each and every one of you."   
  
  
  
"His friends," the witch said, apparently the self-appointed spokes-person for them. "Those are the days his friends..." She trailed off, shaking her head.   
  
  
  
Her words sprang with sudden clarity into Draco's mind, and he understood. Potter took two personal days a year, did he? He'd not struck Draco as the type who would drag his bleeding and broken body into work rather than take a vacation, but it certainly fit with the Gryffindorish way he threw himself into everything he did without a second look back.   
  
  
  
"And none of you freeloaders felt it necessary to inform me - as his resident working partner for the next twelve months - of his annual habits?" he asked, testily. They shuffled and fidgeted, none of them looking him in the eye.  
  
  
  
"Well, we're so used to his habits, y'see, we didn't even think about it. But since you've asked, I guess I'll tell you." A third man, one who'd been silent up to this point stepped forward.   
  
  
  
Draco regarded him coolly. "So kind of you."   
  
  
"I woke up this morning, and looked at the calendar, and just knew that I wouldn't be seeing Potter today. It's been that way for the last seven or eight years. I've never seen him get sick, or wounded in any way that would prevent him from coming in, and he's always here. Most of the time, he's here before any of us get in, and he's here long after we've left. Sometimes I've been in early, and I hear Shacklebolt ask him if he's just got in, or if he's been in all night, and it's about even, what he says. He doesn't stand anything in his space to be touched, which is why we were all so worried about you when we noticed what you was doing."  
  
  
  
"Duly noted," Draco said archly. "Can any of you kindly souls tell me where I can find him today?"  
  
  
  
They exchanged a horrified glance. "You don't want to do that. He likes his privacy."   
  
  
  
"So I've gathered," Draco said, his tone frosty. "Tell me, because if I'm forced to track him down, I'm going to make your lives even more miserable than he does."   
  
  
  
They looked miserable already, but slowly dispersed without telling him anything. Draco scowled around at the newly-redecorated cubicle, and then stalked out of the building, thinking to himself that it was no surprise that Potter had little to do with these fools. He did, however, take the time to poke his head into Shacklebolt's office.  
  
  
  
"I'm going to find Potter," he said. Shacklebolt waved him off disinterestedly, and he smirked, wending his way through the maze of corridors to the exit and Apparition point. He was almost to the door when a startled voice came from behind him.  
  
  
  
"Malfoy, wait, you're doing what?" Shacklebolt put a hand out to stop him, but he neatly ducked away from it without making it obvious he was avoiding the touch.   
  
  
  
"Going to find Potter," he repeated. The head Auror shook his head.  
  
  
  
"That would be a very unwise idea. This is one of his personal days."  
  
  
  
"So I've been told. I'm still going." Draco pushed open the door, and left a flabbergasted Shacklebolt behind him. His curiousity about Potter's whereabouts overrode his common sense, and he apparated blindly.


	5. Crime

**_The times we've lost can be repaired  
So be prepared  
The moments we burned into our minds  
Yeah we'll be fine_**  
 _\-- A Skylit Drive - City on the Edge of Forever_  
-o0o-  
  
  
  
Considering the mechanics of Apparation, Draco was hardly expecting to actually find himself standing in a damp graveyard, surrounded by the ghostly echoes of witches and wizards long dead. A dark shape huddled nearby, looking for all the world like a lost child, or a broken puppet whose strings had been cut.  
  
  
  
"Potter?" he ventured, stepping forward. The other man spun around, grief burning in his eyes and his wand drawn.   
  
  
  
"Bad form to sneak up behind an Auror, Malfoy," Potter said tonelessly, but the fierce light in his eyes didn't fade. "What the hell are you doing here?"  
  
  
  
Draco raised his hands, proving that his wand wasn't within reach. Having startled Potter in the midst of what was likely a very private, personal moment, he doubted that being unarmed would keep him from being hexed, if Potter was pushed enough, but he resolved not to push more than he had to. "I was... worried about you," he offered, realising it was true as he said it. Potter's eyes narrowed.  
  
  
  
"Pull the other one," he hissed dangerously. Draco lifted his chin up a notch.   
  
  
  
"I'm telling the truth. You have a reputation for being on time, and it's now nearly eleven o clock, and you weren't in. No one would tell me where you were, but they revealed what day it was, and that you were always gone on this day." He closed his eyes, mustering the strength to push out his next words. "I didn't realise," he said. "It must be hard, coming here alone. We've never been friends," he opened his eyes, noting that the wand had been lowered, but Potter quaked with an effort to keep still. Whether he was trying to keep from fleeing, or attack, Draco didn't know, but he was aware that this was a crucial step in their partnership, as well as his plan to restore the Malfoy name to it's untarnished place in society. He soldiered on, pushing his personal feelings about such a Gryffindorish movement to the back of his mind, where they could be dealt with later. When in Rome, do as the Romans do went the old saying, and it held true. When dealing with Gryffindors, do as they do.  
  
  
  
"We've never been friends," he repeated. "But we're partners now. And we share something beyond a fantastic dislike for one another." He walked forward slowly, and knelt beside the grave, reading over the words. "We've lost our friends." His fingers reached out on their own, trailing over the engraved statements before him. "Crabbe - in the Fiend Fyre - and Goyle... it was stupid. He fell off his broom while they were... fleeing the Dark- ... fleeing Vol...Voldemort." The name took an embarrassing amount of effort to push past his lips; even eight years later, he was petrified of the Dark Lord, and the things he'd done and seen.   
  
  
  
Potter knelt slowly beside him, head bowed. "I didn't know," he said quietly, and they remained there for another hour, not moving or speaking, lost in their own private thoughts.  
  
  
  
-o0o-  
  
  
  
"I have been informed that you are a _cubicle tyrant._ " Malfoy said amiably, following Harry away from the cemetary, and towards the pub he visited each year after the graveyard visit.   
  
  
  
"Excuse me?" He paused for a moment, slightly stunned by both the tone of voice and arch words. Malfoy waggled a finger at him.  
  
  
  
"You heard me. Tyrant. Of the cubicles. I refuse to work with dead people leering over me. So I made some changes." His tone was still easy and light, but Harry heard the challenge in them. Malfoy made like he was trying to be friends, but underneath it, his opinion of Harry was still desparingly low. For some reason, that was comforting. At least something had stayed the same; there was still _something_ familiar to hold onto in the madness that his life had become over the last eight years. Feeling decidedly nonconfrontational, Harry meekly shrugged.   
  
  
  
"Fine," he said simply, and ducked through the doorway to the pub.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry these are so short. ;; Sometimes I get to writing and it flows like water over a cliff, and then other times, it flows like honey running uphill. This is one of the honey moments. The story refuses to advance any quicker. I'm doing my best.


	6. Working

**_Beyond the boundaries of your city's lights,  
Stand the heroes waiting for your cries.  
So many times you did not bring this on yourself,  
When that moment finally comes,  
I'll be there to help._**  
 _\-- 3 Doors Down - Citizen Soldiers_  
-o0o-  
  
  
  
Harry stared in flustered horror at the remains of his cubicle. It was ... normal. None of his papers were where he'd left them. The pictures, he was expecting to have been taken down, based on Malfoy's comment the day before, but ... it wasn't even recognisable as his any more. It could have belonged to any one of the multitudes of Aurors who worked full time in the office. Face darkening with undisplayed rage, he turned a thunderous look on Malfoy, who had the bad grace to look amused at the situation.   
  
  
  
"This is a much more enjoyable setting for work, don't you agree?" he said lightly. Harry scowled.   
  
  
  
"I cannot be held accountable if my partner is killed in the line of duty," he threatened. "This includes falling off a very tall building." He took a step towards Malfoy, wand drawn, and was trying to decide between throwing a hex or a punch when the little paper bird fluttered down into his face. As senior to Malfoy, all requests for their work would be directed to him, and he plucked it from the air elegantly. "Luckily for me, I am about to get a chance," he muttered, and jerked his head towards Shacklebolt's office. Malfoy trotted along beside him happily, apparently thrilled with his prospective death. Harry had been an Auror for eight years; he was quite capable of making it look like an accident. He'd probably get another Order of Merlin for ridding the world of another Malfoy scourge.   
  
  
  
Shacklebolt didn't look best pleased to see them. "I'm afraid it's bad news, Harry," he said, nodding in Malfoy's direction by way of acknowledgement. "It's the pureblood man again. We're not going to be able to keep this under wraps for much longer. Once the Prophet gets wind of it, we're going to have a circus on our hands."  
  
  
  
Malfoy cleared his throat. "Pureblood man?" he asked politely. Harry shot him a dark look, more irritated with himself for not remembering to mention it before this. Shacklebolt raised an eyebrow at Harry, clearly wondering the same.  
  
  
  
"I hadn't had a chance to tell you yet," he began. "There's a serial murderer targeting purebloods. We've been able to keep it quiet so far, because they've been from relatively minor families, or have no family left to speak of."  
  
  
  
"No one to raise the press," Malfoy clarified, and Harry nodded. "Where's the file?"  
  
  
  
Harry gave him a pointed glower. "It _was_ on my desk," he started, but Shacklebolt cut him off.   
  
  
  
"Malfoy, find the files you put away, and read over it. If Harry's filing system is the same, it should have been near the top of the pile."   
  
  
  
"If he didn't rearrange them," Harry grumbled. Malfoy's attack on his cubicle was a sore point with him, one that he wasn't going to allow to drift away without a fight. Malfoy shot them both a sunny smile.   
  
  
  
"On it," he said pleasantly, and vanished. Shacklebolt turned his attention to Harry.  
  
  
  
"You've got to be more amenable. It's only a year. You can deal with an unorganised cubicle for that long, can't you?" His voice was almost pleading, and Harry wondered why he was so set on Harry getting along with Malfoy.  
  
  
  
"Simply a year, sir," he said curtly, and Shacklebolt accepted it with a tilt of his head.   
  
  
  
"Good. Mrs. Littlewood called; she said there's been someone sneaking around her house, and she's worried he may be a thief. I want you and Malfoy out on it in five minutes, as soon as he reads the report."   
  
  
  
Harry nodded, and turned away. "Alright," he said, hurrying back to his cubicle. Who knew what Malfoy had gotten up to since he'd walked away.  
  
  
  
-o0o-  
  
  
  
Draco had to admit that it was remarkably well-organised for such a disorganised mess. He'd kept all the original orders, and filing systems; just translated it from stacks on the desk into neatly filed drawers. The file on the murders was readily available the minute he pulled on the drawer labeled 'open cases', and it took him only a short time to read it and absorb the details. Small pureblood families, and purebloods with no family left had been targeted so far. He suppressed a thought that it was lucky the Weasley's were so prolific, and then blanched, despite the fact that there was no one to share his thoughts with. Potter wouldn't have appreciated that in any sense, and with his current mental state being what it was, he'd be just as likely to cast the Killing Curse on Draco just for thinking something like that, and then claim momentary insanity to get out of a one-way trip to Azkaban.   
  
  
  
As if summoned by his thoughts, Potter appeared in the entranceway to the little square. "We're leaving as soon as you've read that," he said gruffly.  
  
  
  
"Let's go then," Draco said brightly, and laid the file on his desk, flipped over so that a casual observer of the cubicle couldn't see the contents. Potter scowled, but jerked his head in the direction of the door. Draco followed him out, listening to the terse instructions on their first assignment as a partnered team.  
  
  
  
-  
  
  
  
They'd apparated over to Mrs. Littlewood's spacious home, and were walking up the drive. Potter turned to him, scowling magisterially. "You'll be the one she talks to," he said. "She's not too keen on non-purebloods. If I was here by myself, she'd talk to me, but you'll be able to get more out of her. Your cubicle-wrecking talents should be good for something, at least, as she's quite fond of botany." The words dripped sarcasm, and Draco refused to rise to it for once. He'd known the battle he was in for when he took this job on; he knew his own limitations - few as they were - and he intended to stay well away from them.   
  
  
  
"Cubicle _tyrant,_ " he said mildly. Potter's lips twisted into something that may or may not have been a smirk.  
  
  
  
"Martha Stewart," he shot back, and Draco was still reeling under it when Potter rang the bell. Mrs. Littlewood answered almost immediately, and stood behind a barely-cracked door, regarding them warily.  
  
  
  
Potter pasted a bright smile on his face, one that Draco recognised instantly as fake, but which seemed to reassure the elderly witch. "Good afternoon, Mrs. Littlewood. I'm Auror Potter, and this is - Auror Malfoy. We were sent to check out complaints of an intruder on your property. May we come in?"  
  
  
  
She stood back a little from the door, nodding, and they stepped in, Potter delicately wiping his feet before entering. Mrs. Littlewood nodded once in approval, and Draco ensured that he did so as well. Clearly Potter had experience with her, or her type, and he reminded himself that Potter had eight years with the Aurors under his belt.   
  
  
  
"I'm glad you're here," she said, sounding anything but. "It was a rather tall figure, and he was wearing a black cloak. I saw him out my sitting room window, just here." She pointed to a large window that took up the majority of the wall. "Down there, by the fence."   
  
  
  
"I'll go check it out. Have you been down there at all?" Potter asked, sounding official. Mrs. Littlewood gave him a dour look.  
  
  
  
"Go over to the place that a strange man was wandering around not an hour before? I think not, young man. This is a dangerous world we live in; anything could happen to an old lady living on her own."  
  
  
  
Draco glanced up at Potter, surprised, and found green eyes already on him. They exchanced a glance that conveyed volumes. There was definitely no way information on the murders had slipped out; perhaps she was just being fussy.   
  
  
  
"Very good, madam," Potter said, tilting his head once, and exiting the room. Draco felt panicked for a moment, but the birdlike tilt to her head evened out, and she gave an almost warm smile.  
  
  
  
"Now that the riffraff is gone, I'd like to have a word with you, Auror Malfoy." She offered him a seat, and called up a house elf to serve him tea. "How's your mother?" Mrs. Littlewood asked pleasantly. Draco relaxed.  
  
  
  
-o0o-  
  
  
  
Harry glanced in the window, and saw Malfoy sitting down comfortably, sipping at a cup of tea and chatting to Mrs. Littlewood like an old friend. He allowed himself a genuine - if small - smile, and made his way over to the fence. There were no footprints in the dirt, which was distressing. A discreet spell revealed that there had been no magic cast in this vicinity, which was further bad news. It could have been a simple prowler, and not related to the case at all.   
  
  
  
He relegated the information to the back of his mind, filed under 'unimportant', and then made his way back to the house, wondering how easy it would be to extract Malfoy from the witch's clutches. He knocked once on the door, and then let himself in, taking in more of the home now that she wasn't staring at him like a fish she'd sighted in the water. The first impression of Mrs. Littlewood was that of a kindly old lady, but more than a minute or two in her presence rapidly adjusted that estimation to that of an eagle; she was sharp in her movements, keen of eye and quick of wit, and suffered no ills willingly.   
  
  
  
"Auror Malfoy? A brief check of the area reveals no hostile intent. I believe it was just someone who was lost, perhaps apparated wrong, and was simply trying to find his way out of your garden." He nodded once in thanks to Mrs. Littlewood, and Malfoy rose gracefully, thanking her effusively for the tea. She smiled warmly, inviting him back any time he liked.  
  
  
  
"You do work miracles," Harry said once they were off her property and headed towards the apparition point. "She doesn't call often, but no one in the department can stand to deal with her."   
  
  
  
Malfoy shrugged. "Wasn't too bad," he said. "You're right about the pureblood comment; she didn't want to have anything to do with you, but treated me as if I were her long-lost grandson." He looked around as he walked, an action that any casual observer would take to mean he wasn't interested in his conversation, and was looking for more pleasing things to occupy his mind. Harry recognised it as one of the lessons drilled into recruits during Auror training - always be aware of your surroundings, or as Moody had always said, Constant Vigilance. Briefly, Harry thought that he would have to teach Malfoy to do it more discreetly, and then he cut that thought off before it could go any further. He didn't want to teach Malfoy anything.  
  
  
  
The other half of his brain argued. _You're senior Auror in the field, and you're training him. That means you have to teach him how to be discreet, or he's going to get himself killed the minute he steps out of training._  
  
  
  
The first half argued back. _Would one less Malfoy in the world be any great loss?_  
  
  
  
This drew him up short for a moment, and he actually stopped walking before he realised that this would betray an unwelcome line of thought, and kept his feet moving before Malfoy could say anything to him. _Yes,_ he decided finally, reluctantly. Too many people had died in the war, and because of the war. Friends and enemies alike were gone as though they had never existed. It hit him sometimes, in the dead of night; when he was working late, or jerked awake from a nightmare, and during the day when he was fixing himself a sandwhich or turning paperwork over to Shacklebolt.  
  
  
  
Ron was _dead._  
  
  
  
He'd dealt with death before - his parents, Cedric, they were just the first. But Ron's was the death that brought home the _finality_ of it. The knowledge that he'd been there one day, and then was simply gone the next, and _he wasn't ever coming back._  
  
  
  
Much as he disliked Malfoy, and didn't want to be saddled with him as a partner, the blond man was still a link to the happiest time in his life. And given how much he'd changed in the last eight years, he thought wryly, Malfoy must have changed _some_ how. Maybe one day, several years from now, they'd be comfortable enough with one another to sit down in a pub and reminisce about Hogwarts without resorting to hexes and jinxes. He barked a laugh to himself, and waved it off when Malfoy looked at him.  
  
  
  
"Unpleasant thoughts," he said by way of explanation, and then apparated back to the ministry to file his report on the Littlewood complaint.


	7. Murder

**_Never gonna stop  
Never stop anything at all  
Repeat all that we do  
Let's start from the beginning_**  
 _\-- A Skylit Drive - City on the Edge of Forever_  
-o0o-  
  
  
  
It had been two weeks since Malfoy had waltzed into the Aurors department and upended Harry's life - starting with the cubicle - and he still couldn't stand the man. Sometimes he was pleasant, almost friendly, and then in the blink of an eye he'd reverted to form and became insulting and waspish. Just when Harry thought they might be settling into a routine as partners - something he'd rarely allowed in the past, but made concessions for this time as he _knew_ it wasn't permanent - Malfoy was shaking it up, bringing something new to the table.  
  
  
  
It was driving him mental. In response, he'd withdrawn from contact. It had been a week since he'd made the decision, a week of discussing nothing with Malfoy but the latest case the other Aurors were working on, or whatever happened to be their problem at the time. He utterly refused to discuss even the time of day with the other Auror, much less anything more substantial, and he had the feeling that his reticence was beginning to wear on the blond the same way his irritability wore on the partners he'd had in the past. He just worked better alone, and he knew it. He'd also finally gotten over his fear of using his publicity in his favour, and had used his station to wrangle concessions out of the department of Magical Law Enforcement that other Aurors couldn't even have dreamed of. The lack of a partner was one. If there was an uneven amount of people on duty, the odd one out was commanded to stay in the office and handle minor complaints.   
  
  
  
Harry had forced himself to be the exception to this. He refused to be an 'office flunky', and he refused a partner. Then he'd gone out and proved himself to be among the best Aurors they'd ever seen, and that, combined with his hero-status, had promised him the concessions he'd wanted. And now, for whatever reason, Shacklebolt had decided that he had to not only take on a partner, but he needed Malfoy as a partner. He was certainly the most qualified, work-wise, but he knew there were at least four other Aurors - including Tonks - who were better at dealing with people. Especially the types of people who so often made their way into the Aurors by default, and weren't prepared for the reality. The public often so only the glamourous side of the Auror corps. The pretty press pictures of the Aurors who'd cast quick appearance charms to erase the dirt and tangled hair and torn robes just before the photographers snapped pictures of them hauling the Dark wizards into custody. The part where the Aurors were crawling through mud, sticks, and other, less defineable things in order to _get_ to those Dark wizards was not often publicised.   
  
  
  
To Harry's private dismay, Malfoy seemed to be completely at ease with crawling through mud, and was proving it now. They'd been sent to ferret - Harry had been hard pressed to keep his laughter in check after Shacklebolt let _that_ one slip - out a man who'd been selling poisonous candy to children. Fortunately, he didn't make much of an effort to hide himself. Unfortunately, his base of operations was only accessible through the trunk of a very large tree, and it had been raining steadily for days. The wards around the tree had tipped them off to the fact that their target was aware of his hunted status, and they'd approached cautiously from there.  
  
  
  
This was how Harry found himself crawling through mud with Draco Malfoy at two in the morning. A weak point in the wards was discovered near the ground, and it was possible to literally slip under them. To Harry's annoyance, Malfoy had shown no great disinclination towards getting down on his stomach and wriggling his way towards the warding that surrounded the arboreal entrance to the underground lab.  
  
  
  
A small voice from beside his ear nearly made him snap at Malfoy to shush, when he realised it wasn't Malfoy. " _Crazy human things, trying to move on the ground. Don't they realise it's cold down here?_ "  
  
  
  
He looked down, pausing in his forward movement in order to find the source of the voice. A small brown snake was winding its way through the muddy grass that surrounded the immense roots of the tree, and his lips twitched. He hissed back at it in Parseltongue.  
  
  
  
" _What do you know of the man who lives under this tree, little snake?_ " Beside him, Malfoy jerked so hard in apparent surprise that he nearly set the wards off.   
  
  
  
"What the hell are you doing?" he hissed in a low voice. Harry held a finger up to his lips, hushing him. The snake turned towards them interestedly, making its way closer.  
  
  
" _Aaah? It speaks,_ " the little creature said pleasantly. " _I know much of the thing that lives beneath my tree. It is constantly creating things that smell so horrific that I am often tempted to find a new tree. However, this one is perfect to my needs, and the smells often dissipate after a few darks._ "  
  
  
  
Harry translated 'darks' to mean 'nights', and nodded. " _He's in there now, right?_ "  
  
  
  
The little tongue flickered out once, twice, and then the snake nodded almost imperceptibly. " _Still within,_ " it admitted. " _There is a new smell, one I do not recognise. Take care, worthy one._ "  
  
  
  
Malfoy huffed. "What are you doing, Potter?" he asked, pushing his hair out of his face and leaving a large streak of mud across his forehead. Harry watched the snake continue on its way, and then flicked a glance at his partner.  
  
  
  
"Checking on our target," he explained simply. Malfoy huffed again.  
  
  
  
"Fantastic," he muttered. "We're getting intelligence from a snake." He seemed more out of sorts than he normally did, and Harry tucked it into his mind in the same place notes from cases went, noting that it could be important.  
  
  
  
"Better intelligence from a snake than none at all. How would you feel if we went through all this trouble and he wasn't there after all?" Harry was mildly gratified by the horrified look that overtook Malfoy's refined features. "Relax. The snake said he was still inside."   
  
  
  
"Right. Well. The snake said. Of course." Malfoy's discombobulation confused Harry, but he forcibly wrenched his attention back to the job. "Did the snake also say how to get inside?" the blond asked, a second before the wards ripped themselves wide open and a figure appeared at the base of the tree, less than three yards away from them. Harry acted immediately, stunning their target and disarming him in what felt like one movement. Malfoy was right behind him, casting _Incarcerous_ in case he managed to come out of the stupefication. Harry activated a Portkey set to send their target directly back into a holding cell in the Ministry, and laid it on the man's shoulder. Three seconds later, it flashed, and he vanished. Harry stood up, trying to dust himself off but only succeeding in smearing the mud around.   
  
  
  
Giving it up for lost, he approached the hole the man had left in the tree cautiously, wand held out in case there were any more surprises. Malfoy lay in the mud a moment longer, and then climbed to his feet. "That was entertaining," he said, and followed Harry into the chambers below.  
  
  
  
Within, they found a rather cohesive potions laboratory - the cause of the smells the little snake had mentioned, Harry guessed. Malfoy's nose wrinkled. "Do you know what he's been brewing?" he asked, drawing away from one of the still-bubbling cauldrons.  
  
  
  
"Better for him if I don't," Harry said honestly, thinking how much Malfoy looked like Mrs. Malfoy when he made that face. It reminded him of the World Cup in fourth year, the first time he'd ever laid eyes on the Malfoys as a cohesive family, instead of one on one encounters. Feeling considerably better about everything, he recalled what the snake had mentioned about an unfamiliar smell. "Is there anything in here that's immediately dangerous?"   
  
  
  
"Aside from, oh, I don't know, any _one_ of these many highly toxic potions?" The tone was facetious, and Harry shot him a dark look. Malfoy rolled his eyes, and then resumed his check of the cauldrons while Harry poked through the collected books and odds and ends. Most of it seemed to make no sense, but he figured the Unspeakables would have days of fun figuring out how they worked.  
  
  
  
"We'll have to get the Department of Mysteries in on this," Harry decided autonomously, turning to check his decision with Malfoy. He caught the barest glimpse of a flash from one of the cauldrons, and years of Auror training kicked in before his rational thought did, and he tackled Malfoy to the ground, Apparating them outside as the potion exploded violently, the ground shaking under them as they completed the fall from inside the building. Malfoy stared up at him through golden lashes, astonishment written plainly on his face.   
  
  
  
"You saved me," he said dumbly. Harry shoved himself away from the other man, disgusted but unable to pinpoint exactly what it was directed towards - himself, the potion, Malfoy, or the man who'd been creating the potions in the first place.  
  
  
  
  
"Standard Protocol," Harry assured him tersely, and then ducked back into the tree. The damage had been extensive, but only to the various potions. Most of the artifacts he'd been eying were still intact. He felt eyes on his back, and glanced surreptitiously over his shoulder. Malfoy stood in the doorway, an inscrutable emotion in his eyes. Harry ignored him.  
  
  
  
-o0o-  
  
  
  
Draco couldn't understand Potter. In the same breath, he all threatened to kill him, and then acted as though they were the best of friends. And then the dramatic rescue and subsequent shrugging it off - it was like trying to read a book backwards and upside down. He literally just didn't know what Potter would do next.   
  
  
  
To someone accustomed to being able to read people easily, this was enormously disconcerting. And now he'd walked right back into the scene of a massive explosion, supposedly just checking out the merchandise - it was, after all, worthless to the Ministry if it had been destroyed - but Draco saw it for what it was. A desperate attempt to put some space between them. He followed the other man back into the tree and down the steps, but for once respected someone's wishes other than himself, and remained just outside the threshold of the room.   
  
  
  
When several minutes went by, and Potter still hadn't noticed him, he cleared his throat. "Thank you," he said simply, and then turned and walked back out of the tree. Protocol stated that he had to wait for his partner in case the dangerous party or parties remained in the vicinity, but he trusted Potter's ability to take care of himself. He Apparated back to the Ministry to begin the paperwork on the mission.   
  
  
  
-  
  
  
  
Not even a week after the incident with the potions in the tree, Draco came into the office an hour early, intending to catch up on the work that was piling up. He'd known that the department generated a lot of paperwork, but the sheer vast amounts of it were almost staggering. He reeled under the knowledge that Potter had subsisted on letting it all go for a week, and then doing it all at once; he'd only left two days of paper work to pile up, and it was already a massive stack on his desk. He stepped through the boundary line of their shared workspace, and was startled to find the paperwork gone, and Potter asleep on his desk. He'd only stopped for a moment, and there was someone else at his side.   
  
  
  
A delicate-boned blonde girl strode into the cubicle as though she owned it. From the back, she was petite, but sure of herself, walking in a manner that brooked no argument. He heard the indrawn breath, and was half-expecting a full, throaty voice to come out of a body that moved that way. When it came, her voice was another shock. Soft, dreamy almost, she reached out and shook Potter's shoulder, saying, "Harry. Harry wake up, there's been another one. We need you out there right away."   
  
  
  
Potter jerked awake, his wand in his hand before his eyes had finished opening. Draco was impressed, but kept it to himself. "Luna? Another one?" He was on his feet while the other blond occupant of the cubicle was still registering what was going on.  
  
  
  
"Wait, another what?" he interjected as Potter shrugged into his robes and wiped his eyes. They both turned to him at once as if just noticing his presence. Two pairs of eyes, one steely and one vacant, widened.  
  
  
  
"Murder," Potter said quickly. "It's our man. We're leaving now, come on." They both strode past him, discussing the details. Draco recognised a routine of long habit, and suppressed a sigh as he followed them. Potter turned towards him as they walked. "This is Luna Lovegood. She was in Ravenclaw during school, and is currently an Unspeakable with the Department of Mysteries."   
  
  
  
Draco connected the dots in his mind, surprised that "Looney" Lovegood had moved past the petty jokes of her house-mates and into M.L.E. "Good to see you again, Miss Lovegood," he said formally. She smiled absently.  
  
  
  
"Luna, please, Draco," she said evenly, not breaking stride with Potter who was walking as though he would simply mow down anyone who happened to be in his path and didn't get out of the way soon enough. "I do wish we could have met under more auspicious circumstances. I'd heard that Harry had a new partner, and that it was causing ripples through the entire department. I love what you've done with that dreadful cubicle," she added. "It looks much nicer now. I've told Harry for years that his cubicle needs a woman's touch, but he simply won't listen to me."  
  
  
  
The dig was so subtle that Draco didn't even recognise it at first. "Begging your pardon, _Miss Lovegood,_ " he said frostily. "I happen to be a man."   
  
  
  
"And exactly what Harry needs in his life," Luna said mistily. Potter apparently had no problems with the two of them discussing him in that way, for he said nothing and simply continued on his way. Draco shoved that cryptic remark to the back of his mind as they reached the door.  
  
  
  
"It's Anti-Apparational, so we'll be taking the portkey," Luna said, producing the cap from a bottle of butterbeer in the palm of her hand. Potter and Draco obediently put their fingers on it. " _Abre,_ " Luna whispered, and the tug behind his navel signaled the activation.   
  
  
  
The portkey took them directly into a room coated in blood. Draco's nose wrinkled automatically at the metallic stench that was almost palpable - _I didn't realise there was this much blood inside the body, much less that it could be spread so thickly,_ \- and focused immediately on the lifeless, bloody body in the center of the floor.  
  
  
  
"Who called?" Potter asked with clinical dispassion.   
  
  
  
"Mr. Fliven's estranged aunt contacted him a week ago, and asked to meet him for dinner. He agreed, but when he didn't show up last night, she notified us that he might have gone missing. Apparently, being estranged for five years didn't make him any less inclined to miss an important dinner date without notice."  
  
  
  
Draco interjected suddenly, interrupting whatever Potter had been about to say. "Wait, Fliven? Rafe Fliven?"   
  
  
  
Luna turned her startlingly large eyes on him. "You knew the victim?" Draco shook his head.  
  
  
  
"Not well. We were friends as children by way of our parents meeting once a month for a dinner party." He knelt beside the corpse, careful to touch nothing. He'd fallen out with Rafe over something childishly inconsequential, never dreaming that the next time he'd see the boy would be at the scene of his murder, fifteen years later. The body was almost unrecognisable; large chunks of flesh had been excised off of it, and the smell of dark magic was ripe in the air. "This was done by way of the Dark Arts-" he started, and then stopped. No, it hadn't been. "Wait," he said softly, peering closer at the wounds. "Not Dark Arts." His nostrils flared with the unpleasant smell of death. "See, there is crushing of the skeletal structure here, and the flesh around the wounds is ragged. Someone did this with a knife in their hand."   
  
  
  
He glanced up at his two companions for confirmation, and found pale horror in their faces. The stench of the Dark Magic was almost overpowering, and he backed away from the body. "The Dark magic was used to torture him before the actual murder," he deduced. Potter cast a spell, and suddenly dark purple streaks of light leapt to life around them. It startled Luna, who cried out suddenly and stepped back. The writhing bands of magic, streaked with poison green, proved his theory. Fliven had been tortured mercilessly, possibly for hours, before a messy, painful death.   
  
  
  
"This fits," Potter said. Draco started.   
  
  
  
"Nothing else was mentioned about torture," he said, and Potter shook his head.  
  
  
  
"The magical signature is the same," he pointed out. "No one else has been with me on these cases, so I had no way of proving it, but whoever is doing these killings, they're leaving the same trace behind." He gestured the magic, visible in bursts of colour and winding around them. "Now the only question will be finding out who it belongs to. This isn't something that they're going to advertise."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've realised that there's a desperate problem with my writing, something I'm trying to correct (so bear with me, if you please). I have absolutely no problem with dialogue - witty repartee, pleasant banter, steamy flirting... dialogue falls out of my brain like rain out of a black cloud. It just pours forth unendingly. What I have a problem with is the meaty part of a story. Actions, descriptions, placements, they all fall short in the face of the dialogue. One of my friends had the exact opposite problem; she was fantastic at movements, and descriptions, and going on undendingly about what was going on, rather than what was being said, and had trouble wringing conversations out of whomever she happened to be writing.
> 
> So I'm actively going to force myself to spend as much time on what's going on, as well as the dialogue, and it's probably going to show through in my writing (IE, if you notice large clusters of dialogue followed by no dialogue at all as I realise they're talking too much) and I apologise for that, and thank you all in advance for taking my wild swings and rolling with them. 
> 
> (I'm mostly copying the author's notes from the original, but I have something to add here: The above is still true. Despite having written 3/4s of five full length, original novels, I STILL have trouble remembering to make the characters shut up and DO something.)


	8. Deep

**_The Second Star to the right  
shines in the night for you  
To tell you that the dreams you plan  
Really can come true_**  
 _\-- Jesse McCartney - Second Star to the Right_  
-o0o-  
  
  
  
Luna's words were haunting him.   
  
  
  
Draco was lying on the decadently large bed he'd taken from the Manor when he'd rented a smallish apartment in London - to cut down on the commute, he said, but what he really wanted was time to himself with no house elves and no family for a while - and staring up at the ceiling, trying to sleep. He'd been there an hour, lying motionless, occasionally counting backwards or meditating to clear his mind from the thoughts that churned continually through his head, but thus far, it was a lost cause.  
  
  
  
He blamed the Ravenclaw. _Harry's cubicle needs a woman's touch, but Harry himself needs a man in his life._ They damning words had been spoken in a frank, matter-of-fact voice - or as matter-of-fact as the day-dreamy Luna ever got - but they simply chased themselves through his brain, trying to make sense of the message. He'd often joked while in school that Ravenclaws were simply Slytherins with better study habits, but he'd never actually applied it to any of them - not Cho Chang, not Terry Boot, and certainly not Looney Lovegood.  
  
  
  
But the mental treasure-hunt she'd sent him on was not only worthy of being called Slytherin, it would have outclassed many of them. Draco refused to let a little blonde slip of a girl outwit him over his own partner.  
  
  
  
He admitted that he'd known Potter less than seven years, and then not all that well, where-as she'd clearly been as close to him as anyone had been these last eight years, and was in the most qualified position to be offering advice on what Potter needed. If only she'd made it clearer, he whinged to himself, and then whinced as his father's voice crackled through his mind, drowning out Luna for a moment. " _Malfoy men are_ powerful, _Draco. Never let slip any weakness before any witness - not even the night._  
  
  
  
That was before the disasterous return of the Dark Lord, skewing their carefully laid plans and tearing their family apart forever. He forcibly returned his thoughts from the past, and tried futilely to muddle through the answer to Luna's words.   
  
  
  
-o0o-  
  
  
  
Several kilometers away, nearly on the other side of the city, Harry was also lying awake, but for an entirely different reason. His sheets were tangled around his legs from spending the last two hours tossing and turning, trying to find a comfortable position into which he could relax.   
  
His thoughts kept his body from unwinding, however, and the coiled knot of tension in his chest sat like an unwelcome stone. _There's got to be something there. The magical signature is our only clue. But short of testing every single person in the wizarding world, there's just no way of following it up. Nothing else is left behind. No footprints, no weapon, no fingerprints - Luna's already told me she's gone over every site with special muggle machines designed for crime solving, and hasn't been able to come up with anything from that._  
  
The Unspeakables in the Department of Mysteries, she'd explained once, acted something like muggle forensic scientists, looking for details and invisible clues otherwise overlooked. "Of course," she'd added in that distant way of hers, "We have access to a great deal more than the muggles, and don't have to rely so much on time-consuming machines."  
  
The Auror corps worked closely with the Unspeakables in the line of duty, and since Shacklebolt had taken over the department, the success rates of both the Auror Corps and the Unspeakable department had seen an increase of nearly twenty five percent.   
  
  
Nothing they did was helping solve this case, however, and Harry turned himself violently over once more, twisting his sheets around his midsection. There was just no _motive!_ No reason behind the killings. He knew how they were done, he knew who was being targeted, and he had a single clue - the residual charge of magic in the air. The unfortunate part was magic was traced through wands - if they could find the wand used to create the spells found used on the victims, then they could trace it back to it's owner - their suspect. But the more he thought about it, the more hopeless it seemed.   
  
  
  
Harry flipped again, pounding his pillow with a fist in frustration he would never have shown in front of anyone else. Here in the privacy of his home, he was free to allow his emotions their proper expression, and he struck the pillow again with enough force to leave a deep depression in it.  
  
  
  
"Damn!"  
  
  
  
-o0o-  
  
  
  
The next morning, Malfoy was already there when Harry arrived at seven. The blond didn't look as though he'd gotten any more sleep than Harry himself had, and blinked blearily at him over his coffee.   
  
  
  
"Morning," Draco mumbled.   
  
  
  
"Sleep sometimes Malfoy," Harry said curtly. "Otherwise you're going to get yourself killed."  
  
  
  
"Sod off."   
  
  
  
Harry couldn't be bothered with a reply; instead, he flung himself into his seat, taking in the changes Malfoy had wrought in his cubicle out of the corner of his eye. It was more than a little disoncerting to see _plants_ in his cubicle. There was absolutely no way he would ever admit to the fact that they sort of brightened the dinghy little three-walled box up a bit; hell would freeze first. But it didn't detract from the overall _strangeness_ of it.   
  
  
  
_This is going to be one bloody long year._  
  
  
  
-o0o-  
  
  
  
By noon, they'd made no considerable headway into the case, and it was almost with relief that Harry noted Luna's sudden appearance in his cubicle.   
  
  
  
He opened his mouth to greet her in as friendly a way he ever managed these days, when her expression turned serious, and he stood. "Another one?"  
  
  
  
She shook her head as Malfoy also rose to his feet. "Hello Lovegood," the blond said politely, and glanced at Harry. Harry ignored his look, wondering what would bring Luna all the way over from the Department of Mysteries two days running.   
  
  
  
"Harry, I need to speak to you in private, please," she asked, flicking Malfoy an apologetic look. Harry strode out of the cubicle, more than happy to leave the useless theories and list of possible suspects to Malfoy.   
  
  
  
When he'd lead her to a private room, used mostly for friendly questioning, she took up a position near the far wall and gazed and him steadily. Harry allowed her the time to collect her thoughts, or whatever it was she needed to do.  
  
  
  
She didn't disappoint. "Harry, we've been doing some digging into your past," she said without preamble. This was stunning enough that he unintentionally gave her the necessary silence to continue. "There's something come to light that we think you ought to know about."   
  
  
  
"Why?"   
  
  
  
She offered him a vague smile and lifted one shoulder. "It gets boring. Harry, you're a pureblood." Both statements were delivered in the same general, dreamy tone. "That puts both you and Auror Malfoy squarely on the list of possible victims. We have other Unspeakables on duty watching the homes of other purebloods who live alone and have little to no family. The same measures will be accorded to the two of you, so please don't feel frightened by someone following you."   
  
  
  
After a few minutes, Harry managed to get his brain in motion again. "Of course I'm not a pureblood," he said, his tone dropping into dangerous levels. "My mum was a muggleborn-"  
  
  
  
"Your mother was adopted, Harry. We've found the papers to prove it." Luna's gaze was unwavering; he wasn't even sure if she'd blinked.  
  
  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
  
  
"Lily Evans was born Liliana Grey. The Greys were a small, desolate pureblood family, and when she was born, they found themselves unable to take care of her. Voldemort was beginning to gain power in those days, and they feared for her safety if she remained with them, as they were unable to protect themselves, much less a newborn baby. She was put up for adoption in the muggle world, and the Evans' adopted her into their family. She then grew true to her magical heritage, attended Hogwarts and married James Potter. The Potters were, historically, close friends of the Greys, though a falling out between the two bloodlines some years past lead to a rift in the friendship that was almost a blood feud. By that time, the Greys had all but died out - Lily was the last, and now she's gone too." She turned her eyes away finally, settling them on the wall. "I'm sorry you have to find this out now, Harry," she said softly, "and in such a way. I was concerned for you; if this leaks out, your popularity is going to double. The famous Harry Potter, a pureblood! Not to mention, you're all alone. This makes you a prime target for the killer, and we wouldn't be able to keep the murders away from the press any longer if you were targeted."   
  
  
  
Speechless, Harry let her walk past him. "Malfoy, too, is in danger. His past makes him just as much of a public target as you are, and with the both of you working on this case, you're in twice as much danger." She left the room after that, and Harry felt his legs give out from beneath him.   
  
  
  
_Adopted,_ he thought, and looked down at his pale arms, the ghostly blue of the veins beneath the skin clearly visible. _Pureblood._  
  
  
  
They could possibly be targeted. Harry could take care of himself, but anything could happen to Malfoy, so new to the Aurors and living in London on his own, instead of in Wiltshire with his family. Part of him wouldn't mind Malfoy's demise; it would rid him of the partner he so despised, and his life would return to normal.  
  
  
  
Or rather, as normal as it ever was. Was he even normal any more? Tomorrow was the day he visited Hermione. For the first time in eight years, he found that he didn't want to.   
  
  
  
Part of him wouldn't have minded Malfoy's death, no. But the rest of him screamed that Malfoy had to be protected at all costs. Luna wasn't enough to keep him, but Malfoy's presence these last few weeks had drawn him back from the edge of the apocalyptic madness he'd begun to feel creeping along the edges of his mind. It was madness in and of itself, that Malfoy could affect him thusly, but it had always been so; no matter where he was or what he was doing, Malfoy had always affected him.  
  
  
  
 _Christ._  
  
  
  
-o0o-  
  
  
  
Draco saw Luna exit the room without Potter, and make a beeline straight for Shacklebolt's office. She was in and out of there much quicker than she'd been with Potter, and then he found her coming straight at him.   
  
  
  
"Malfoy," she said pleasantly. "I'm sorry I was rude earlier, but I had to inform Harry of something very serious. Shacklebolt has asked me to tell you as well, as Harry might be some time in coming to terms with it."  
  
  
  
He waited expectantly, wondering if she would dance around it all day.  
  
  
  
"You and Harry are both possible targets for the serial killer," she informed him bluntly, and then smiled sweetly. "Have a nice day." She turned and walked away, somehow seeming to make it look errant and meandering while she neatly avoided everyone in her path and went directly towards the door.  
  
  
  
She'd said it so vacantly that it took Draco a moment to catch up with the actual words. _Targets? Potter? What? What the hell have I gotten myself into?_  
  
  
  
-  
  
  
  
Logically, he knew he'd be a target whether or not he was in the Aurors, and after an hours contemplation, he'd come to that realisation. That still didn't explain Potter, however, and he went to Shacklebolt's office, seeing as how his partner hadn't seen fit to return to work after Luna had spoken to him.   
  
  
  
"I wondered when I'd see you in here," Shacklebolt said, resignation evident in his voice. "Harry's gone home. He's had a bit of a shock today, and tomorrow he won't be in, so I saw no harm in it."  
  
  
"A shock? What? Won't be here?" Draco was fully aware that he was gibbering like an idiot, but he was getting fed up with having things only half explained to him. "Explain," he demanded, seating himself in one of the chairs before Shacklebolt's desk.   
  
  
  
"Luna did some investigations into Harry's family history on my request. The things she's discovered were quite a surprise to us all. Lily Evans, as it turns out, wasn't muggle-born after all."  
  
  
  
Draco put two and two together rapidly. "She was adopted out of a pureblood family by muggles," he deduced. Shacklebolt nodded, steepling his fingers under his chin.  
  
  
  
"Not an uncommon practice in old families with no money back then," he said. "Though generally the child was given into the care of other wizards. However, now it does present more than a few problems, most specifically with the case the two of you are working on."  
  
  
  
"Lovegood told me we were both possible targets," Draco agreed. "I'm sure we'll be in no trouble, however."  
  
  
  
"What's this about Potter?" The voice didn't come from Shacklebolt, and the door was securely closed; for a moment, Draco was startled, unsure of who was speaking or where it was coming from. Shacklebolt's forehead wrinkled briefly as a shadow passed over his face, but it passed quickly and he turned to look into the fireplace behind his chair.  
  
  
  
"Hello Mrs. Littlewood," he said politely. "I'm afraid you've called at a bad time."  
  
  
  
"Potter's a pureblood is he? Good," she said. "Best news I've heard all year. But I didn't call to snoop," the woman snapped, as if Shacklebolt had accused her. "I want them back here right now. It's nearly the full moon, you know, and all sorts of disreputable garbage comes out of the woodworks at that time. I'm afraid I've become the target of an unhappy werewolf, because there was another prowler in my garden just last night."  
  
  
  
"Thank you for your call, Mrs. Littlewood," Shacklebolt said. "Someone will be around to check it out shortly."   
  
  
  
"See that they are," she said sternly. "I'm an old woman, you know, and I'm all by myself here in this house. Very dangerous to be alone in this day and age, all sorts of ruffians lurking about."   
  
  
  
"Thank you, Mrs. Littlewood," Shacklebolt said again, louder. She withdrew from the fire, and he buried his face in his hands with a loud sigh. "This is the worst possible time for her to be monopolising my men," he muttered.  
  
  
  
"Sir?"  
  
  
  
"Go home, Malfoy," he said. "I'll send someone else to appease her this time."  
  
  
  
Draco rose to his feet. "Yes sir," he said quietly, and made his way to the door. "Shacklebolt," he started, and was pierced with a sharp stare.  
  
  
  
"Leave Harry alone today," he ordered. "Give him today and tomorrow, and then ask him all the questions you want. This is not the time for it."  
  
  
  
His plans thwarted before he could even consider them seriously, Draco scowled. "Yes sir," he replied, and let himself out of the office. The fact that he'd even been considering asking Potter about his family - as if he _cared,_ no less, and not just out of curiousity - spoke volumes about his involvement with his partner. Suddenly it seemed much less of a good idea to have gotten himself into the Auror Corps, family plans be damned. _Too deep,_ he decided. _Gotten myself in much too deeply with this._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harry gives me so much trouble! Draco rolls right out of my brain like he's on wheels, but Harry can't decide if he's happy and talkative or moody and reclusive, or any combination of those, or something else. ;; Again, I apologise!
> 
> (The majority of the review replies and the above author's note were written... months ago, when I was still actively writing HP fics. I took a long break in which I was focusing solely on my original novels, for which I have two books - TWO! 8DD - to show for my neglect of my beloved fandoms. You guys are champion for keeping up with my many disappearances, and you all get cookies, homemade and slightly charred on the bottom. If you notice a difference in my writing style from here on out, it's because I've spent the last six months or so focusing solely on novel writing, and researching writing itself, so I have a much better idea of how to present a realistic story, rather than just slapping some words down onto the page and flinging it to the wolves. I'm also not happy with Harry's characterisation any more, and his wild moods, so I'm going to work on evening that out, and I may even go back one day and rewrite this, in order to keep him more in character to the story.


	9. Raging

**_Never gonna stop  
Never stop anything at all  
Remember what we do  
Re-live the lives we put in the sky_** _  
\-- A Skylit Drive - City on the Edge of Forever_  
-o0o-  
  
  
  
Harry awoke at six that morning, and as soon as he'd gotten dressed, made his way to St. Mungo's. The staff were expecting him, and they let him through to Hermione's room with no questions asked. They'd learned the hard way that asking things like "How are you today, Mister Potter?" and the like were a good way to get their heads bitten off.   
  
  
  
It was still hard for him to see Hermione like this. He sat just inside the door of her room while she stared out the window, unmoving.  
  
  
  
"Hello, Hermione," he said as pleasantly as he could when the silence became too much for him to bear. "Ron's doing fine. I'm sure he'd want to know how you were doing if he could be here." There was no reaction from his old friend; he hadn't been expecting one any way. He talked to her for a few more minutes, telling her about what he'd been doing with the last year of his life. She barely blinked as he spoke.   
  
  
  
When he was through, he pulled a book out of his pocket. "I think you'll like this one," he informed her, and started reading. It had started nearly five years before, when he realised she had nothing. None of the mind-healers had ever been able to get through to her, and eventually they'd given up. Harry had no hope of succeeding where the best healers money could buy had failed, but it didn't stop him from making the attempt.  
  
  
  
Reading took him the better part of the day, and his throat was dry and hoarse when he finished. "I'll come back next year," he promised as he stood, and let himself out of the hospital. Hermione hadn't moved an inch in the entire seven hours he'd been there.   
  
  
  
-  
  
  
  
It was never easy for him to see his friends - Ron's icy cold grave, and Hermione's unblinking motionlessness - but it was his last link to a happy life. Not even Luna was enough to drag him out of his shell; she simply hadn't known him well enough. Now, though, there was Malfoy to contend with. _Only a year,_ he reminded himself. The next time he went to see Hermione, he could tell her that his time with the ferret was up, and his life was back to normal. Hopefully by that time, he'd be able to tell her that he'd solved the case, and the murders had been stopped.   
  
  
  
In order to do that, however, he'd need to work on them; solve them. The sooner the better.   
  
  
  
Although it was technically his personal day, he'd already done what he needed to, and he apparated to the scene of the last murder, Fliven. The body had been removed, and the room largely cleaned. The Ministry had been slowly picking through the artifacts found in the home, readying them to be resold or kept in the bowels of the Ministry's basement. No one wanted to buy anything that had belonged to a murdered man, nor a house where someone had been killed, but after enough time had passed, the public memory would forget and newer and better things would take it's place.  
  
  
  
Harry seated himself in the place where the body had been found, shivering unintentionally as a sliver of cold passed through his skin. He closed his eyes and tried to recreate the murder. _Tortured unmercifully with dark magic for hours before he was killed with a knife,_ he thought. _Why is that important? What are we missing?_  
  
  
  
Dark magic could keep the body alive throughout tremendous amounts of damage. The killer wanted it to be personal. _Why_ though? What could these people have done to deserve the deaths they'd been given? Fliven was a hermit for the most part; Harry didn't think he'd had any contact with anyone besides his aunt in years. And even she had been doing it as a sort of reach-out, intending to reestablish a connection with him. The last victim, a girl whose name Harry couldn't recall offhand, had been the exact opposite. She'd been a social butterfly, always attending this party or that, or hosting her own. No connection there.   
  
  
  
The only solid thing holding the case together was the use of dark magic, which was untraceable unless they had the wand, and the fact that it was purebloods with little to no family left. _Dammit,_ Harr thought. _Who could it be?_  
  
  
  
His magic leapt out of his skin suddenly, surrounding him. It took forms and shapes - furniture, the way it had been arranged when he and Malfoy and Luna had arrived to look at the body, and a single other person - Rafe Fliven. Fliven's magical body moved about the house, doing odd chores, dusting, listening to the wireless.  
  
  
  
A second body appeared, but Harry could make nothing out of it. Shorter than he and Fliven, but no gender could be discerned. The person wore dark, shapeless robes, and covered their face with a dark mask. _No Death Eater remnants, then,_ he decided. Fliven was stunned, and the torture began.  
  
  
  
He'd seen a great deal of death and torture in his line of work, but this was among the worst he'd ever witnessed. It was silent; for that he was grateful. But it had not been an easy death. It had lasted for hours, and Harry sat through every minute of the re-creation, watching for some sign or clue.   
  
  
  
Finally, the perpetrator dropped their wand, drew a knife from a sheath on their belt, and leapt upon Fliven's body, stabbing over and over again, long after Fliven was dead. Even through the flecks of blood flying from the blade, Harry could see markings worked into the metal, and an odd twist about the hilt. Combined with the reverence with which the killer had drawn it from their waist, he felt certain that the knife was important in some way.   
  
  
  
Finally, their rage expended, the killer stood up and retrieved their wand, spelled themselves clean, and then walked out. The magic faded, leaving the house looking new and fresh again.  
  
  
  
Harry swore. It had been an exercise in futility; he was now several hours into the night, physically exhausted, and no further along than he was when he'd started. He staggered out of the house and Apparated back to his flat, falling into bed without bothering to do more than kick his boots off and leave them where they fell.  
  
  
  
-o0o-  
  
  
  
Draco stood outside Potter's door, wondering if he should knock or simply walk in. Years of his mother's training in manners, however, prevented him from simply entering into someone else's house uninvited, and he knocked several times. When there was no answer, he suddenly feared he'd open the door to find Potter's tortured and bloody body on the living room floor, and he pressed the door open.  
  
  
  
The fact that it was unlocked scared him even more, and he entered slowly, his wand drawn and ready. A quick search of the tiny apartment revealed only one closed door, and no body. The door was Potter's bedroom, and once more he balked at simply waltzing in. Finally, the fear that a bloodbath awaited him on the other side, he turned the knob and the door swung open. Potter was lying on his bed fully dressed, clutching his pillow like a lifeline. His glasses were on the floor beside the mattress, and his hair fluttered with every exhalataion.   
  
  
  
Draco leaned against the door in relief, letting out a heavy sigh. Potter's wand was in his hand immediately, and Draco found himself pinned under a petrificus spell. "It's just me," he bit out through clenched teeth. Potter blinked at him blearily for a moment, and then rooted around for his glasses.  
  
  
  
"Malfoy?"  
  
  
  
The spell fell away, and Draco returned his wand to it's holster on his arm. "You're late," he said, as if this was the only reason he'd been snooping around Potter's apartment on a Friday morning.  
  
  
  
Potter fixed him with a dark glare. "Why are you here?"   
  
  
  
"You're never late," Draco said breezily. "Shacklebolt was afraid we'd find you in pieces somewhere, especially after Littlewood found your secret out. I wouldn't be surprised if it's splattered across the Prophet's front page by now."   
  
  
  
The glare intensified. "Littlewood _what?_ "  
  
  
  
"Would you like some tea?" Draco asked cheerily, suddenly afraid for his life. No one knew he was here; if Potter wanted to do away with him, they'd never find his body.   
  
  
  
Without waiting for a response, he ducked out of Potter's bedroom and made himself busy in the kitchen. Deliberately, he let the cupboards crash closed and the mugs clink onto the countertops, releasing the nervous tension he'd been feeling since arriving on Potter's doorstep.   
  
  
  
"Christ Malfoy, you're making enough noise to wake the dead," Potter mumbled from the door to the kitchen. Draco looked up at him quickly as he set the kettle on the stove to boil. Potter was leaning against the door jamb, his shirt unbuttoned and barefoot. It seemed horridly indecent to be here in Potter's flat first thing in the morning, and for him to be _barefoot_ of all things. He realised there was an un-Malfoyish flush to his cheeks, and he dug the tea out of the cupboard before dropping a bag into the mug while the water heated. He'd also found, in his search for the teabags, a jar of instant coffee, unopened. He opened it now, inhaling the scent of ground coffee beans with a brief smile that almost managed to make him forget where he was.  
  
  
  
"Is there any particular reason you're here so early?"   
  
  
  
"It's not early," Draco pointed out, but before he could continue, the kettle screamed piercingly. He took it off the heat and poured it into the two mugs, preparing his coffee and Potter's tea at the same time. "It's not early," he repeated. "You're late for work. I have a perfectly legitimate reason for being here. We were afraid we'd find you in a pool of blood."  
  
  
  
"Because Littlewood found out." Potter's tone was arch, and if not for the quick look at his expression, Draco would have been ducking behind a shield charm. His eyes were neutral however, a complete contrast to the bitter resentment in his voice.  
  
  
  
"Before you blame me, Shacklebolt did it himself. He forgot to close off his floo before he talked to me, and she overheard us when she called to complain about werewolves." He took in Potter's scowl, and hastened to add, "She's full of it, of course. I think she just enjoys disrupting the routine."   
  
  
  
Potter rubbed at his forehead absently as he accepted the mug of tea Draco held out to him. "Joy," he muttered under his breath, and downed half of it in one gulp. "As you can see, I'm neither in pieces nor drowning in my own blood. Get out. I'll be in shortly."   
  
  
  
Draco debated the merits of staying versus doing as he was told, and decided that it would help his cause if he acquiesced now. It would go far to be on more peaceable relations with his partner, even if it were only short-term. "Very well," he said with false gaiety. "See you in half an hour." He drank his coffee quickly and let himself out of the apartment before Apparating back to the Ministry.  
  
  
  
-o0o-  
  
  
  
Harry felt considerably better after his shower and breakfast consisting of another mug of tea and a few slices of toast. He hadn't quite meant to confront Malfoy in the kitchen looking as ... _relaxed_... as he had, but he'd been on his way into the shower when the strange thumps and thuds emanating from the kitchen had distracted him. Although he'd never admit it aloud - he barely acknowledged it in the relative privacy of his own thoughts - seeing the stunned look on Malfoy's face as he took in Harry's state of dishabille made the accident worth it.   
  
  
  
Indeed, the look on his face as he strode through the foyer on his way to the DMLE could almost be mistaken for pleasant.   
  
  
  
It was extremely short-lived, however, as the moment he stepped into the Aurors office, he was confronted with an excited Colin Creevey shoving a camera into his face and blinding him with the excessive flash used in Wizard photography. "Creevey," he growled, but the petite blond man simply gazed at him, dazzled.  
  
  
  
"Blimey Harry, all this time," he gushed, and fired off another rapid series of pictures. "Just think of what this'll do for your reputation," Creevey continued, unaware of the danger he was in as Harry's wand slipped into his grasp.  
  
  
  
"Get the camera out of my face before I break it," Harry warned him once. Generally, having both Seamus Finnegan and Colin Creevey working for The Daily Prophet was helpful to him in his line of work; when he told them to keep something out of the god-awful rag, they listened. But this, he knew, was just too far-reaching for him to do anything about it now.  
  
  
  
Fortunately for the sake of his equipment, Creevey had learned when to take a hint, and he reluctantly lowered the camera. "Would you be willing to-"  
  
  
  
"No."  
  
  
  
"But you haven't even heard me out, Harry!"   
  
  
  
"No interviews. No comments. No pictures. No lies," he finished. Then as an afterthought, "and no exaggerations."   
  
  
  
"Blimey Harry, what am I supposed to tell them?" Creevey looked uncertain. Harry glowered him into submission. "Very well," he sighed, and let himself back out of the office.   
  
  
  
"Blimey, Harry," came the familiar drawl. Harry looked up into Malfoy's face, scrutinising the amusement he found there. "Still got your fanclub, I see," he said, and took a long pull on the mug of coffee in his hand.  
  
  
  
"Did you manage to accomplish anything _useful_ while I was out yesterday?" Harry snapped at him, all traces of what might have passed for a good mood gone.  
  
  
  
Malfoy had the good grace to look sheepish, at least, or as sheepish as he could get. "Not really, no," he said. "We've had absolutely no new leads."  
  
  
  
That was about as distressing as it got, especially when combined with Harry's own failure the night before. He sighed, and dug the heels of his palms into his eyes under his glasses. "Alright," he said, knowing even as the word was coming out of his mouth that the only chance they would have would be to wait until another murder was discovered. He despised the need for more death, especially when he'd _seen_ the perpetrator, all but _watched_ Fliven be tortured and murdered, and there was something tickling just out of sight in the back of his mind, but he couldn't settle it long enough to get a grip on it.   
  
  
  
-  
  
  
  
Once again, Harry found himself walking up Mrs. Littlewood's drive in response to yet _another_ call.   
  
  
  
"Paranoid old biddy," Malfoy muttered, just loud enough for Harry to hear him. He shot his partner a dark look, and knocked on the door. Littlewood flung it open with a bright smile on her face - a stark contrast to the icy scowl she generally wore when presented with him on her property.  
  
  
  
"Auror Potter," she exclaimed warmly. "How are you today? Please, come in both of you. Tea?"  
  
  
  
It was such a remarkable change from their past interactions that for a moment, Harry wasn't sure how to respond to her. Luckily, Malfoy's years of experience with this sort of social call came to both their rescues, and just as the silence stretched on long enough to become insulting, Malfoy stepped forward with an elegant bow.  
  
  
  
"Mrs. Littlewood," he said regally. "A pleasure to see you again, though I'd hoped it would be less dramatic this time. Another prowler you said? And tea would be lovely."  
  
  
  
 _Lovely,_ Harry repeated silently, quietly horrified by the ease with which Malfoy slipped into the pureblood routines and rituals while at the same time blessing him for them - the Weasley's were in a class of their own when it came to pureblood interactions, and of course, he'd been raised as a muggle. Something seemed off about the elderly woman - she was more energetic than Harry had ever seen her before, and she kept up a steady stream of chatter with Malfoy as Harry looked around at the house. It stank of Dark magic, but several raids by other aurors had turned up nothing in the way of illegal objects or spells. A past partner of his had simply put it down to the heavy weight of centuries of occupation by purebloods less sanctimonious about what sort of magic was considered 'dark' and left off the chase in Littlewood's home.  
  
  
  
He noted an open door in a previously blank wall, and his pause mid-stride drew the attention of the other two directly to him. Mrs. Littlewood smiled shyly, almost flirtatiously, and Harry recalled the way she'd responded to Malfoy the last time he'd left the two of them alone. Blood purity was apparently a very strong ideal with this woman.  
  
  
  
"That's my collection room," she explained. "I tend to keep it closed off when company's over, especially Aurors, as it tends to make you lot nervous, but I assure you it's all perfectly harmless."  
  
  
  
She pushed the door open, and revealed a room full of blades. Multitudes of weapons glinted in the light, made of gold, silver, steel, iron, bronze, and other metals Harry couldn't immediately identify. Some were carved; some had stones set into them. It was clearly a complete collection, and Harry put his suspicions about the knife used in the murder to rest. There wasn't a hint of dark magic about any of them, and there was clearly a place for all of them, with barely any room to spare. None were missing, he decided, looking over the collection. They were packed in so tightly that it would be difficult to remove one without a glaring empty spot left behind in the masses of weaponry on display.   
  
  
  
"I'd like to take you at your word that it's a harmless collection, Mrs. Littlewood, but recent circumstances require me to send someone over to catalogue the collection," Harry said formally. Malfoy glanced at him, startled, and Harry was disturbed to realise he'd forgotten Malfoy was there in the stunning discovery of the blades.   
  
  
  
"You could do it now," Littlewood offered. "I'm going nowhere, and I'd be happy to tell you the story of each blade."   
  
  
  
"We're here to investigate your reports of a prowler, Mrs. Littlewood," Malfoy interceded, just as Harry's temper was starting to reach critical mass with the woman. She'd been a constant thorn in the DMLE's side for _years_ now, and he disliked surprises of this magnitude.  
  
  
  
"So prompt," Littlewood simpered, and then swept the two of them into her drawing room. "Same place," she said. "Just there, by the gate."  
  
  
  
Malfoy flicked a glance at Harry, and then went to the large french doors that lead into the garden. "I'll go and have a look," he offered, leaving Harry to the mercies of the harridan.  
  
  
  
She immediately offered him tea, which he accepted out of a sense of polite duty. He sniffed unobtrusively, looking for hints of poison or veritaserum, but could detect nothing. Still, he took no more than a tiny polite sip before letting the cup rest on the table and fixing Mrs. Littlewood with a fierce stare. "Mrs. Littlewood," he began. "I would like to apologise if this seems impertinant or rude, but there is no prowler. There are no signs that anyone's been near your gate but yourself in weeks, months likely, and your repeated calls to the Aurors are an unwelcome distraction from the things we should be paying more attention to."   
  
  
  
There. He'd said it, and further more, he'd even managed a _reasonably_ friendly tone of voice. Instead of taking offense, as she would have done in the past, he was sure, she simply smiled, albeit sadly.  
  
  
  
"Thank you for your honesty, Auror Potter," she said. "It's a rare trait these days. But I am an old woman, and I live alone, and these are dangerous times for a woman of any age to be on her own."  
  
  
  
"Clean," Malfoy said, reentering the house only after meticulously wiping his feet outside. "Have a nice day, Mrs. Littlewood." He waited by the door as Harry rose to his feet and joined him. Together, they walked to the Apparation point just outside her fence, and returned to the department to file the paperwork on Malfoy's insistence - "If we do it now, we don't have to worry about it later," he'd argued.   
  
  
  
Harry went home at the end of the day and took a long, cool shower. The warming charms on the offices seemed to be malfunctioning, and he'd spent the entire day of paperwork becoming more and more overheated.   
  
  
  
The next day, he woke with a raging fever, and wondered if Littlewood hadn't managed to poison him after all. The last thing he wondered before his fiery brain refused to function any further was if he'd finally meet up with Ron and Sirius and his parents on the other side if this killed him, and why that prospect seemed to bother him more than it had before.


	10. Cross

**_Enlighten me  
reveal my fate  
just cut these strings  
that hold me safe_** _  
\-- Breaking Benjamin - Follow_  
-o0o-  
  
  
  
Draco lead the 'raid' on Littlewood's house himself the very next day. The fact that he spent more time chatting with her than doing his job didn't bother him in the least; that was the reason he'd brought others with him, more suited to the task of cataloguing a potentially dangerous collection of weapons.   
  
  
  
After the room had been taken care of, Mrs. Littlewood gave them permission to search the rest of her house, even going so far as to open up the secret passageways and other hidden storerooms for them. More than once, Draco thought he caught a sly look on her face, but it was gone before he could get a clear look at it long enough to catalogue what it could mean. She'd even taken veritaserum with her tea and assured them that there was nothing actively dangerous in her home.  
  
  
  
Satisfied, Draco and the other Aurors left and spent a good hour and a half at the Ministry, filing the paperwork. He thought it was odd that Potter wasn't there, but seeing as how it wasn't an official work-day, decided that even Potter's workaholicism could afford to take a break every once and again. He did, after all, have the enviable reputation as the single best Auror in the entire department, and that mostly partnerless. Smugly, Draco told himself that that reputation would only gain from their partnership. It was only a matter of time now before they collared the man killing the purebloods, and after _that_ anything the MLE could throw at him would be a walk in the park.  
  
  
  
He spent the weekend studying his Potions texts, putting in as many practice hours as he could to ensure that he had a stockpile of various healing potions. He also studied the potion that had foiled his Mastery test, but he didn't attempt to brew it; it took several days of uninterrupted care, and he didn't have the time just then.  
  
  
  
By the time Monday rolled around, he was exhausted, but happy about it. Littlewood had been crossed off their rather short suspect list - a new record, Draco was sure, as she'd been on it less than twenty four hours - and he once again found himself facing an empty cubicle. "This is ridiculous," he muttered to himself. _Potter's supposed to be here all the time. What the hell's he getting up to these days that I have to go and fetch him every day?_  
  
  
  
-o0o-  
  
  
  
The fever had morphed into a body-wracking cough, and in one of his more lucid moments, Harry reluctantly admitted that it wasn't the result of poison. He felt weak, as the fire within him seemed to consume him from the inside out, leaving a hollow husk behind. He lost all sense of time in between fevered hallucinations and burning moments of clarity - it could have been minutes, or years that he'd lain there, helpless.   
  
  
  
As the endless decades sped past, he finally realised he'd been forgotten. He was going to die here in his own flat, of some damn fool sickness he'd caught for not paying enough attention to how much magic he was expending at Fliven's house. His fever seemed to have broken at last, and while he still coughed, he was able to sit up and take stock of his room. He'd peeled off his clothes at some point during his illness, and he took the time to gingerly make his way off the bed and pull on some pajama bottoms. He took some floo powder off the mantle above the fireplace, but before he could throw it to the flames, he was overcome with a wash of dizziness and nausea.   
  
  
  
The floo powder fell uselessly to the floor, and he followed it moments later, moaning quietly at the horrible weakness of his own body. The fever returned as quickly as it had left, and he was lost again.  
  
  
  
-o0o-  
  
  
  
Draco was supremely worried by Tuesday, and Potter still hadn't shown up. No one had been able to reach him by floo, and once again Shacklebolt called him into the office for a personal favour.   
  
  
  
"This constant worrying that you're going to find him in pieces is getting tiresome," he said, "but I'd appreciate if you'd simply... make sure he was still breathing?" Shacklebolt rubbed the top of his bald head, a sure sign that he was worried and nervous - more so than he was letting on.   
  
  
  
"Certainly, sir," Draco said respectfully, and made his way out of the building. Potter's absence had left the entire Auror department feeling - lighter, somehow, like his presence dampened the joy that spread from a job well done. Apparating to Potter's flat, he knocked loudly, in case the man were sleeping or in the shower. When he received no answer, he went ahead and pushed the door open.  
  
  
  
Immediately, his eyes went to the body on the floor, and his heart leapt up into his throat.   
  
  
  
"Potter!"   
  
  
  
-  
  
  
  
He'd been in the waiting room of St. Mungo's for an hour, waiting for some word on his partner. The shock of finding the other man sprawled in front of his own hearth that way had worn off, especially after he'd realised that Potter was sick, not bleeding out. Potter's ridiculously large hearth - designed to keep sparks and flame off the carpet while providing a place to kneel - had kept him hidden from view when Shacklebolt had firecalled him.   
  
  
  
Draco had no way of knowing how long he'd been there, or how long he'd been sick before the sudden collapse, and the first thing he'd done had been to call it in to Shacklebolt, and then take Potter to St. Mungo's. Unfortunately, partner or not, the medi-wizard hadn't allowed him into the room while they were running their diagnostics. When the medi-wizard came into the waiting room, he was smiling, and Draco rose to his feet, relieved.  
  
  
  
"He'll be alright?"   
  
  
  
"He'll be fine. It's a simple respiratory infection that wasn't caught in time and settled into his lungs. He should be out of here in a day or two, as soon as the potions have time to work through his system." The medic, Domuch according to the name emblazoned across his robes, fixed Draco with a piercing stare. "It was brought on by a mass expenditure of magic, lowering his defenses. Any idea what he was doing?"  
  
  
  
Draco spread his hands, puzzled. "Not one," he admitted. "He was in here the other day visiting his friend Granger, but he was fine when I saw him the next morning." Draco paused, considering. "He'd slept in and was late for work, however, something I'm told is out of character for him."   
  
  
  
"You're told?"  
  
  
  
"We've been partners less than a month," Draco explained. "Much of the past three weeks have been spent with him ignoring me." It hurt to admit, but the man could hardly use it against him. Potter's skill as an Auror was legendary, but his reputation as antisocial was almost as great.   
  
  
  
"I see. He's awake now, if you'd like to see him." Domuch consulted the stack of papers in his hand, and left the room muttering. Draco considered simply leaving, but he knew that Shacklebolt would have his head if he left without ensuring that his partner was alright. It was one of his strictest rules, one Potter had gotten around by being his usual attention-seeking self, that while on the job, you went nowhere without your partner.  
  
  
  
Draco let himself into Potter's room. His eyes were closed, his glasses resting on the small table beside the bed. He was no longer flushed and trembling, and his forehead felt cool beneath Draco's fingers. He found himself playing through the soft strands of hair covering Potter's famous scar; even eight years after the war, Potter's hair was an untameable mess and Draco had always thought it would feel rougher, more like straw than strands of silk.  
  
  
  
"Is there something I can help you with, Malfoy?"   
  
  
  
Draco jerked his hand back as though he'd been burned at Potter's words. Vibrant green eyes were staring at him as though his every secret were printed across his forehead. Draco coughed to hide the mild embarrassment he felt at having been caught with his hand in the jar, so to speak. "Certainly not," Draco said loftily. "I was just making sure your fever was down. You gave me quite a scare - again," he added pointedly. "Your death-wish needs talking to. What on earth were you doing that stripped so much of your magic out of your body?"  
  
  
  
Potter shrugged as well as he was able, and struggled to sit up. Draco bit back the admonishing words he wanted to say, about Potter needing rest, and then seated himself in the chair beside the bed, waiting for whatever fantastic and unbelievable reason Potter deigned to give.  
  
  
  
"Crime scene re-creation," Potter said simply. Draco gaped at him; he'd heard that sort of thing mentioned in the books during the testing phase of Auror training, but he hadn't seen anything about anyone actually _accomplishing_ it.  
  
  
  
He chuckled to hide his surprise. "Is there nothing you can't do?"  
  
  
  
A haunted look came over Potter's face suddenly, and Draco regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth. "Yes," Potter said succinctly. "Get out of my room."   
  
  
  
For once, Draco didn't argue with him. He simply let himself out, and thanked the healer lingering in the hallway.  
  
  
  
-o0o-  
  
  
  
Harry was back at work the next day as if he'd never been sick. He hated himself for allowing his defenses down so far that he'd actually become ill, and Kingsley had lectured him for nearly an hour about it starting the minute he was in the front door.  
  
  
  
Almost relieved, he let himself out of Kingsley's office and padded towards his cubicle. He nearly walked right past it; Malfoy's changes turned it into something completely different, almost home-like, and he fondly recalled the look of dignified outrage on Malfoy's face when he'd referred to his partner as Martha Stewart.   
  
  
  
The blond was already seated at his desk, bent over some paperwork and scowling magisterially. Harry sank into his chair with almost palpable relief. He despised hospital visits for any reason other than Hermione, and if he were to be totally honest with himself, even those were becoming something of an imposition.   
  
  
  
"Potter," Malfoy said suddenly. Harry paused mid-motion, in the process of drawing the large stack of paperwork towards him. "Someone who lives there, eight letters."  
  
  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
  
  
Malfoy waved what Harry had mistaken for papers at him, and he realised it was a crossword book. "Eight letters. Someone who lives there."   
  
  
  
Harry remained silent a moment, considering whether or not to answer. The word was out of his mouth before he'd even come to a concrete decision. "Resident."  
  
  
  
"Aha!" Malfoy turned back to his desk, scribbling furiously. Harry stared at the back of his head for a moment, trying to figure out what he ought to feel about that, and then put it off in favour of returning to the stack of papers waiting for his signature.   
  
  
  
"Evil," Malfoy said half an hour later. "Six letters."  
  
  
  
Harry didn't even have to think about it. "Malfoy."  
  
  
  
Malfoy turned around slowly, gaping at him. Harry ducked on instinct, dodging the quill Malfoy launched at him. "Prat," the blond muttered, and retrieved his quill.   
  
  
  
"Wicked?" Harry suggested as Malfoy regained his seat. The blond flashed him a grin, and turned back to his crosswords. Harry shook his head in disbelief, drawing another page towards him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not a lot going on in this one - and normally I'd drag it out until something happened, as it's not good to have filler chapters, but that's the novelist in me talking, and I want to show the progression of their relationship. 83


	11. Miserable

**_A last fire will rise behind those eyes  
Black house will rock, blind boys don't lie  
Immortal fear, that voice so clear  
Through broken walls, that scream I hear_** _  
\-- Gerard McMann - Cry Little Sister_  
-o0o-  
  
  
  
"Potter," Draco began, intending to inform him of the raid on Littlewood's house. He was interrupted before Potter could do so much as look up from the dwindling stack of papers he was completing, by a tiny brunette woman poking her head in the door.   
  
  
  
"Oh," she said. " _Harry,_ I'm so glad you're alright." Her voice was almost breathy with hero-worship, and Potter shot her a dirty look for it. "I was so worried when you didn't come in, you see, and then Malfoy said you were ill."  
  
  
  
"Thank you, Silena," Potter said, his voice just shy of a growl. "Now if you don't mind, I'm busy."   
  
  
  
Her eyes dipped invitingly over his body, and her tongue snaked over her lips. "Oh, I don't _mind,_ " she all but drooled, and Draco had had enough. He rose to his feet.   
  
  
  
"We're busy," he announced, and all but shoved her bodily out of the hole that passed for a door to the cubicle. "Fancy a bit of cof-er, tea, Potter?" He didn't wait for Potter to reply, instead moving the girl a little bit further down the hall to her own cubicle with a hand on her shoulder.   
  
  
  
She glowered at him. "That was incredibly rude," she informed him, the breathless quality gone from her voice and replaced with a shrewish tone.   
  
  
  
"My heart aches," Draco said facetiously. "Leave him alone, he's had a rough weekend." He continued past her cubicle towards the break room where the coffee pot and kettle were stationed.  
  
  
  
"Malfoy the Hero," she drawled to his back. Draco told himself to keep moving, but she'd apparently taken it upon herself to be the scourge of the day. "Is that what you're thinking of yourself? Going to try and drag your name out of the mud, are you?"  
  
  
  
It hit harder than he'd expected it to, and he stopped so suddenly that she nearly ran into him. "It just so happens," he drawled right back, the old Slytherin ways coming right back to him. "That I had genuine interest in the Aurors. If the standing of my family happens to be a side effect of my tenure with the MLE, then so be it."  
  
  
  
"I heard you bought your way in," the girl - Silena, Potter had called her, but Draco didn't know her last name and it bothered him. "Just like you bought your way onto the Slytherin team in school, and you still weren't good enough to beat Harry then. You're still not good enough."   
  
  
  
"Fancy yourself an expert, do you?" He arched an eyebrow at her, but before he could think of something suitably sharp to say to her, they were interrupted by her partner, a man so tall he made Draco feel short.  
  
  
  
"Sinder, come on now, no antagonising the Death Eaters in the building." He put an arm around Sinder's shoulders and redirected her towards their cubicle. Draco was so stunned by the dig that he was left standing in the middle of the hallway gaping like a stranded fish. After a few moments, he got his expression under control, and continued on his mission to get drinks. They were technically not allowed to take food or liquid away from the break room, but considering the more important rules Potter was constantly breaking, he didn't think that this one little breach would be cause for alarm.  
  
  
  
On the return trip, he noticed a paper bird flutter into Sinder's cubicle, followed by a small explosion. Immediately, Draco found himself at the center of a large crowd, as nearly the entire Auror corps gathered at her space to gape. He could make out Sinder's screeching over the din, but nothing else, and when she appeared at the entrance with a soot-blackened face and turquoise hair, the entire room dissolved into laughter.   
  
  
  
"You!" She shouted, advancing on Draco. He backed up, holding his hands up defensively. It would have worked better if he didn't have two mugs full of steaming liquid occupying them, but she noted them, and stopped. "Whoever did this it _wasn't funny!_ " she announced to the room at large, and the crowd dispersed, not wanting to draw Sinder's wrath.   
  
  
  
Draco returned to his cubicle to find Potter hunched over his knees, shoulders shaking. He hurriedly put the mugs down and knelt down at his partner's side, afraid for a moment that his fever was making a come-back. "Potter?"  
  
  
  
"Did you see her face?"   
  
  
  
Draco squawked. " _You did that?_ " he hissed, incredulous. After a moment he realised that Potter's sudden attack wasn't the return of his brief bout with the flu, but an attack of humor. Potter flashed him a grin, and it nearly took Draco's breath away with the sheer, unfettered _joy._ It utterly lit up Potter's face, and for a moment he seemed like a completely different person.   
  
  
  
"I learned it to use on you, originally. Ron taught that spell to me in sixth -" The smile dropped off his face so suddenly it was as if he'd put a mask on. "Year," he finished flatly. "Thank you for the tea, Malfoy," He returned to his paperwork, all traces of laughter gone from his face.   
  
  
  
"Potter," Draco started, unsure of what exactly he was going to say. Before he'd even gotten the proper words straight in his head, his mouth was running on ahead of his brain. "Why did you do that?"  
  
  
  
Potter glanced up at him, an inscrutable look in his eyes. "She insulted you." He shrugged it off a moment later, reaching for a sip of his tea only to realise as he tipped it up that it was empty. He rose to his feet and stretched, bones popping lightly. "Don't worry about it," Potter advised, and went to get himself another cup of tea.   
  
  
  
Draco remained where he was, unable to move even if he'd wanted to. _He did that for me,_ he thought. It looped through his brain on repeat, stalling out the rest of his thought processes.  
  
  
  
-o0o-  
  
  
  
Harry swore quietly to himself as he waited for the kettle to boil. The coffee pot beeped its readiness to serve, and Harry looked between the icy cold kettle and the piping hot coffee. Swearing bitterly, he took the kettle off the heat and poured himself a cup of coffee.  
  
  
  
 _Bloody filthy stuff,_ he told himself, even as he poured some of it into his mug. He stood there nearly five minutes, adding sugar and tasting it until he'd gotten it to the point where he thought he might be able to stomach it.   
  
  
  
Settling at the table, he stared moodily into the steam swirling off the tan liquid, so deceptively tea-like, brewed with milk and sugar, and why the _fuck_ had he admitted to hexing Sinder in defense of Malfoy? Wasn't he _above and beyond_ minor schoolyard pranks like that? And for _Malfoy?_   
  
  
  
He took a long pull on the coffee, and the drink made it down his throat and into his stomach before the taste really kicked in and he realised that it wasn't his usual tea. But for all that he'd needled Malfoy about it, it really... wasn't all that bad. He finished the mug, and left it in the sink, then dropped by Kingsley's office.  
  
  
  
"I'm going home," he informed his superior. The walls were beginning to close in - Ron's laughter was filling his mind, reminding him that he should have been here with the youngest Weasley son, they should have been partners from the first, and it should have been Hermione in the Unspeakables while Luna went on to work for that godawful paper, and they should have _been_ there but now they weren't - just like he hadn't been there for either of them when they'd needed him.  
  
  
  
"At least you saw fit to tell me this time," Kingsley muttered, blithely unaware of Harry's mental breakdown.   
  
  
  
_I've got to get out of here._  
  
  
  
Memories were crowding themselves into his brain, Ron's hysterical laughter the first time Harry had attempted the Puteulanus Pulvis hex and turned his own hair blue for days. They'd covered it up with glamours at the time, and it had eventually worn off on it's own, but they'd been the only ones to know about the mishap, and Ron had teased him fiercely about it for _weeks_ afterward, dropping the word blue into nearly every conversation no matter what they were discussing, be it Quidditch or Death Eaters.   
  
  
  
He all but sprinted from the building, trying to outrun his memories.   
  
  
  
-o0o-  
  
  
  
Draco realised Potter was gone when he didn't return after a half hour had passed. He dropped by Shacklebolt's office, but the man offered him nothing more helpful than "He's gone home."  
  
  
  
He spent another half hour waffling about remaining in the office, and then decided his paycheck was salary based, and skipping out the last few hours of the workday wouldn't hurt him in the least. He tossed a farewell to Shacklebolt over his shoulder as he passed, and the man simply buried his face in his hands, wondering what he'd taken on accepting Malfoy into the department as Potter's partner.  
  
  
  
Draco didn't bother knocking this time when he appeared outside Potter's flat; he simply let himself in and put the kettle on. "Potter," he called. "I'm in your kitchen."   
  
  
  
Potter appeared in the doorway, wrapping in a blanket and looking for all the world like a child who's puppy had just died. "Why are you here Malfoy?" he wanted to know.  
  
  
  
"Because you're not at work," Draco said blithely, and then realised that it came off sounding rather _odd._ "No point to working if there's no work to be done," he amended weakly. "You look like hell. Christ, Potter, it was just a childish prank. No need to feel so guilty; I'm sure the colour will wash out in a day or two."   
  
  
  
Potter flinched as though he'd been kicked, and Draco stepped towards him. "It will," the ex-Gryffindor reassured him hollowly.  
  
  
  
"Talk to me, Potter," Draco demanded magisterially. "I'll fix you your bloody tea, and we'll sit on that hideous settee, and you'll tell me whatever's going on behind those absurdly large green eyes of yours."  
  
  
  
Potter stared at him as though he'd grown an extra head, but when Draco shoved the mug into his hand, he looked at it, looked at the couch, and then settled himself on the couch. "I don't need to tell you a damn thing," Potter said obstinately. "I'm still feeling a bit ill after my episode the other day."  
  
  
  
"Bollocks," Draco said firmly. "I've been in this with you for a month. You've got that look on your face that you only get when someone reminds you of Weasley or Granger."   
  
  
  
Potter drew in further to himself, seeming to diminish there on the couch. For a relatively large man, he could make himself extraordinarily compact when he needed to. "It's none of your bus-"  
  
  
  
"Business? Of course it's my business. What did I tell you when I got myself into this mess? I'm not attempting to take anyone's place, but I also refuse to allow you to work yourself to death. With that comes the responsibility of making sure you're not anything-elsing yourself to death, either."  
  
  
  
Potter lifted an eyebrow at his unusual choice of words. Draco felt a flush creeping up his throat, and flapped his hand at his partner.  
  
  
  
"Be quiet," he said. "I'm a pureblood, not a dictionary." When the faintest hint of a smile passed across Potter's face, he knew he'd struck the right tone. "Now," he began. "We've come a long way from school. Anything you tell me stays between the two of us. I'm hardly going to rush to the papers and tell them my partner's a raving lunatic at this point - all it would get me is reassigned, and then I'd never learn anything about being an Auror, especially if they're all as startlingly dim as Sinder."   
  
  
  
"Silena's not that bad," Potter said.   
  
  
  
"Fawning sycophant," Draco declared. "If she'd been any more obvious about it, she'd have stripped naked right there in the office and given you a lap dance."   
  
  
  
"She wouldn't," Potter disagreed. "She values her life."   
  
  
  
"Does she now?"  
  
  
  
"As you clearly don't. Why are you here, Malfoy?"  
  
  
  
Draco set his cup down on the table and fixed Potter with a serious stare. "It's been eight _years,_ Potter. You've got to put it behind you. It's terrible. I never liked any of you in school, but I wouldn't have wished death or madness on either of them, and it's terrible that it happened, but it did. How on earth can you make anything of yourself as an Auror if all it takes to bring you falling to pieces is a mention of your friends?" Potter's knees were drawn up to his chest, and he stared fixedly at an empty stretch of wall. "Can you imagine what would happen if that got out among the Dark wizards you're still tracking down and hauling in? That all they needed to do to get past you would be to bring up Weasley's demise?"  
  
  
  
Potter flinched, but Draco forged on. "Or worse," he said. "What if they broke into St. Mungo's and did something to Granger? Used her as a hostage against you? You'd completely fall to pieces and be of utterly no use to anyone. You've got to get past this."  
  
  
  
Whatever thread of control was holding Potter together snapped, and before Draco could blink he found himself pinned against the couch, Potter's hand against his throat and a wand jabbing into his temple. "I don't have to get past a damn thing," he hissed warningly. It was disturbingly close to the Parseltongue he'd used on the Mud Mission as Draco had dubbed it, and he found himself fighting off the shudder that ripped its way up his spine. There was something ... _dangerous_ about Parseltongue, something almost sinister in it's complete innocence, and the fact that not only was it a completely foreign language, it was communication with an _animal._ It never failed to strike him straight between the shoulder blades, and had ever since his second year, the first time he'd ever heard Potter use it. He realised he was unconscionably distracted, and returned his attention to the lethal and pissed Auror sitting on his chest. "I don't have to get past a damn thing," he repeated in a more normal tone of voice. "Ron's dead, and Hermione would have been better off dying, and I didn't."  
  
  
  
"There was nothing you could have done-"  
  
  
  
"Don't fuck with me, Malfoy, you don't know the half of it. It doesn't matter to me if Hermione dies because she's already dead inside. And I should have died with them."  
  
  
  
Draco could hardly believe his ears. " _Saint_ Potter," he sneered, falling back into old habits when confronted with the familiar hostility from Potter. "Feeling guilty for living when they didn't, so you're going to slowly kill yourself in your job so you can have something to tell them when you finally manage to off yourself."   
  
  
  
"I'm not trying to kill myself!" Potter shouted suddenly. "I can't die yet! I still haven't finished!"  
  
  
  
"Finished? Finished what? Destroying yourself?"  
  
  
  
"I'm going to hunt down every last dark wizard in the world," he vowed. "And I'm going to make sure that no one else ever has to lose someone they love to Cruciatus-induced madness."  
  
  
  
"Vengeance," Draco drawled. "A noble, Gryffindorish goal. Couldn't save yourself from suffering, so you'll just go on saving the world, no matter how miserable it makes you."   
  
  
  
"I'm not miserable!"   
  
  
  
"You're alone! You can't possibly tell me you're happy coming home every day to this tiny cramped flat, by yourself, with no one to talk to, no one to go out to the pub with and share a drink. When was the last time you went flying for the fun of if, instead of on a mission for the Aurors? You're going to _kill_ yourself carrying on like this and I can't just sit here and do nothing!"  
  
  
  
The shouting match faded away, leaving harsh breaths and fiery glares in its wake. Potter retreated to the other side of the room, not looking at Draco. After a long silence, he turned to him slowly, grim determination lighting his eyes.  
  
  
  
"You're right," he said quietly. "I'm miserable. But there's nothing you can do about it. Just go home, Malfoy. I'll see you tomorrow."  
  
  
  
 _It's a start,_ Draco told himself. The first step to solving your problems, after all, was admitting you _had_ a problem. "Fine," he said softly. "Tomorrow." He let himself out and apparated away.


	12. Knife

**_We say our goodbyes  
Let's bring it tonight  
The story's building as we live on through this night  
Representation to approve the words we bind  
The city never pulls through once we all are doomed_** _  
\-- A Skylit Drive - City on the Edge of Forever_  
-o0o-  
  
  
It was nearly a full day later when Draco finally found a chance to tell Potter about the raid.   
  
  
  
"She took veritaserum all on her own, and then lead us on a guided tour around her house," Draco said. Potter took this in stride, shooting him a sharp glance.  
  
  
  
"You're sure she took actual veritaserum?"  
  
  
  
"Absolutely," Draco nodded. "But here's the real kicker," he added. "She deals in rare daggers. That room of hers we saw? Just the start. She claims it's a hobby, but I found it interesting, especially with what you said about the knife in the murder."  
  
  
  
Potter slumped down in his seat, exhaling upwards so that his fringe ruffled with his breath. "Did you get the names of people she's done deals with?"  
  
  
  
Draco pulled out a roll of parchment. "It's about three miles long," he said mournfully, unrolling the first few inches of names. "There's got to be hundreds if not thousands of names. Apparently she wrote them down in order, all the way back to her very first tradesale. There's dates and a description of the knife beside each name, as well. This is going to take us _years_ to get through."  
  
  
  
It felt like he was walking across a thinly frozen lake, dealing with Potter today. The dark-haired man had come in to work that morning and pretended as though nothing had happened the night before, and it was weighing heavily on Draco's mind. Potter had made admirable progress, he thought, and then simply shoved it out of his mind as though it were a chore he were procrastinating over.   
  
  
  
"Potter," he said, lowering the parchment. "About last night-"  
  
  
  
"No."  
  
  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
  
  
"I refuse to discuss 'last night' here with you in the middle of the MLE when anyone could overhear us."   
  
  
  
"Harry." Shacklebolt ducked into their cubicle, and handed over a file. "The Dark Mark was seen above a prominent shop in Hogsmeade." Potter was on his feet in an instant, pulling his Auror's robes over his muggle jeans.   
  
  
  
"What? When?"  
  
  
  
"First sighting was less than ten minutes ago. Get up there, both of you."   
  
  
  
In the flurry of activity following his pronouncement, no one noticed the blue-haired woman slipping away down the corrdidor between cubicles.  
  
  
  
-o0o-  
  
  
  
They apparated into Hogsmeade together, the loud cracks blending into one deafening boom. The Dark Mark hung in the sky like poison, casting an eerie green light across the whole of the snow-covered town. The streets were completely deserted, the shuttered windows and gleaming snow giving the town a ghostly feel.   
  
  
  
Harry put his hand out to keep Malfoy from moving, looking around carefully for the caster of the Dark Mark. The streets were so empty, they might as well have been alone in the small town. Harry shivered quietly; his sweater and robes were enough in London, but here in the Scottish winter the icy wind chilled him right to his core. He cast a simple heating charm, and heard Malfoy doing the same beside him.  
  
"They'll be somewhere in the vicinity," he muttered to his partner. "Keep an eye-" He didn't get a chance to finish his sentence - instinct had him flinging himself to the side, out of the path of a stunner. It struck the snow behind him and fizzled out, and he sent a return spell in the direction it had come from.   
  
  
  
Within moments the street was lit up like christmas as spells began flying back and forth.  
  
  
  
-  
  
  
  
Draco stood as if frozen, watching Potter come alive with the fight. Dodging, rolling, flinging spells as if they were snowballs, he looked positively _vivacious._ This, then, was where his reputation as the best Auror on the force had come from.   
  
  
  
Suddenly, Draco found himself tackled to the ground. Bringing his wand up as fast as he could, he only barely managed to halt the spell that was working it's way off his lips as he realised it was Potter.  
  
  
  
"Pay attention, Malfoy," he hissed, and was up again, moving with an agile, fluid grace that hardly looked like anything so simple as _movement_. Draco had time to see the burnt patch on the ground where he'd been standing, and then a second voice joined the fray, and he regained his feet only to witness the red light of a stunner flying towards Potter's unprotected back.   
  
  
  
His instincts kicked in, and he flung out a shield before engaging the second Death Eater remnant in a battle of his own. Spells were flying past, missing him by mere inches, and instead of fear, he felt... a curious sense of exhileration. Everything slowed down to the point he barely felt as though he were moving at all, but neither was the renegade Death Eater before him, and he had ample time to see what the other man would do before he actually made the movement. His shield charm glittered into existence moments before the blasting curse rammed into it, and he lowered the protective charm to send an _expelliarmus_ in return.   
  
  
  
The Death Eater's wand sailed towards him, but a wandless summoning charm sent it careening back towards it's owner. Draco swore quietly to himself, and continued the duel.  
  
  
  
-  
  
  
  
One of Harry's spells struck home, sending the Death Eater crashing into the snow. He retrieved the man's wand, and set a Portkey down on his chest to send him into a holding cell at the Ministry. His emotions were still running high, and he turned to Malfoy with a triumphant grin on his face, only to see a third Death Eater remnant rise out of the snow and cast an unheard spell towards Malfoy's back.  
  
  
  
It was green.  
  
  
  
Harry acted without thought, the knowledge that there was nothing he could do and Malfoy was going to die just like Ron, right there on the snowy, deserted streets of Hogsmeade, and suddenly rage flared up inside him. _Malfoy is_ not _going to die!_ he thought, and suddenly his patronus was flying from his wand, racing for Malfoy.   
  
  
  
The stag intercepted the light just as Malfoy finished his battle and turned to Harry. He caught the Avada Kedavra and the Patronus out of the corner of his eyes, and Harry could see the same thoughts going through his mind - he wasn't going to make it, he was going to die right there, there was no way a _Patronus_ was going to do anything against the Killing Curse, and then the stag and the spell collided -  
  
  
  
There was a massive explosion of light. The Death Eater Apparated away before Harry could do more than blink the spots out of his eyes, but when his vision cleared, he could see Malfoy lying motionless in the snow.  
  
  
  
His heart jumped into his throat, and his stomach sank into his shoes, and he almost couldn't force himself to go collect his partner's body. _I knew it wouldn't work,_ he berated himself. _There was nothing else I could do._   
  
  
  
The familiar hopelessness settled over him like a cloak, and he gingerly picked his way through the snow. There was a charred scorch mark in the snow where the Patronus had tried and failed to contain the Killing Curse; he passed it without more than a cursory glance, before dropping to the ground beside Malfoy's still form.   
  
  
  
He took a deep breath, and then put two fingers against Malfoy's throat, expecting to find total stillness. For a second, he wasn't in the snow of winter-locked Hogsmeade, but the damp, cluttered field beside Stonehenge, bodies littering the ground as he stepped over and around them to reach Ron, but when he felt for a pulse, there was a heart-wrenching _nothingness_ where his heart should have been beating but -   
  
  
  
Like a captured bird, there was a fluttering against his fingertips. He froze, his entire body stiffening, and he might have stayed like that forever if Malfoy hadn't groaned, and lifted a hand to his head.  
  
  
  
"Did any one get the license of that lorry?" he mumbled, and then his eyes opened and focused on Harry's face. "Potter?"   
  
  
  
Harry found himself on his back in the snow, his arms full of trembling blond. He patted Malfoy on the back awkwardly - it had been years since anyone had hugged him, and for a moment he wasn't sure what to do with himself.   
  
  
  
"I don't know what the fuck you just did, Potter, but I owe you my life. Again." Malfoy chuckled weakly against his shoulder, and then pulled back. "Does this make me The Man Who Lived?" he joked in a fair imitation of his usual humor, but Harry could see that Malfoy was almost as shaken by the events as he was. He checked once to ensure that Malfoy had placed the Portkey on the Death Eater he'd been fighting, and then side-along Apparated them both back to the Ministry.  
  
  
  
-o0o-  
  
  
  
Shacklebolt had sent him to St. Mungo's upon hearing the story, and he'd been lying in bed and telling scores and scores of Healers and Medi-Wizards that, Yes, he was fine, and No, he hadn't been struck by the Avada Kedavra or any pieces of it, No he had no idea how Potter had stalled the Killing Curse with a Patronus - the last thing he recalled was seeing it coming towards him, and then suddenly there was a large animal between him and the curse, and a large explosion that threw him off his feet and knocked the breath out of him for a moment.  
  
  
  
The only thing that kept him from snapping at them was the fact that _they'd made history that day._ Potter himself was the only known survivor of a direct Killing Curse, but now Draco himself was going to join that rank - there had been no way to avoid the curse or dispell it, not when it was that close. A small bruise on his side showed that the curse had actually made it through the stag and _touched him_ and he'd still survived it.   
  
  
  
The press was crowded around the door, all clamouring for an interview with him, when they suddenly paused, and then parted, drawing away from the door in a fluid motion.   
  
  
  
Potter strode into his room, and sat down, shooting the reporters a dark glare that sent them scrambling away from the room. "You're alive," he said simply, before casting a spell over the door to close and lock it.  
  
  
  
"Thanks to you," Draco said softly. "That was incredible."  
  
  
  
"You scared the fuck out of me," Potter hissed suddenly, looming close to him. "I thought you were dead."   
  
  
  
"Well," Draco said, and gestured to his body. "Clearly I'm not." His heart gave a brief thrill at the thought that Potter had actually been afraid for him. It spoke volumes about how cracked that icy shield he presented to the world had become, and how much Draco himself had had to do with that crack.   
  
  
  
Potter returned to his seat, and rubbed his eyes. They sat in companionable silence for a moment, and then Potter shot him a look that said business. "What did you want to talk about?"  
  
  
  
Draco, expecting something a little more serious - _How are you feeling, what's it like to have survived the Killing Curse, How's your mum?_ \- was taken off guard for a moment. "Pardon?"  
  
  
  
"Before Sinder interrupted us at the office." Potter explained, as if that covered everything. "You wanted to talk to me about something."   
  
  
  
Draco wracked his brain, and finally recalled what he'd been intending to say. "Ah, the raid on Littlewood's." Potter's fierce green eyes lit up with some internal flame.  
  
  
  
"How was that?"   
  
  
  
"Absolutely nothing," he said despondently. "She was utterly clean. Had records of every trade she'd made going back to the fourties. They're still running them down and checking them out."   
  
  
  
"Damn," Potter swore quietly. "The knife used in the murders," he said, lowering his voice and leaning forward. Draco found himself leaning in conspiratorially as well. "It's important. I saw it the night before I got sick. We've got to start tracking down shops and people like Littlewood who deal in magical weapons."


	13. Clues

**_you know my name  
you know my face  
you'd know my heart  
if you knew my place  
I'll walk straight down  
as far as I can go_** _  
\-- Breaking Benjamin - Follow_  
-o0o-  
  
  
  
When Harry returned to the office, he saw that Malfoy had set up some sort of triangular sign on his desk. It read, in large bold letters, **Don't Question Authority. They Don't Know Either.** It wrung a brief chuckle out of him, and he sensed someone at the door just as he was reaching for it to flip through the other messages.  
  
  
  
"I heard you saved Malfoy's life," Sinder said breathily. Harry didn't have to force the scowl that slipped over his face at the sight of her turquoise blue hair.   
  
  
  
"Shouldn't that have worn off by now?"   
  
  
  
She touched it, primping slightly. "I found I rather liked it. People keep mistaking me for Tonks, though."   
  
  
  
Harry's scowl deepened. "What do you want?"  
  
  
  
The smile that flit across her face was wholly unpleasant for the entire split-second it was evident. "While you were off performing your heroics in the face of the Death Eater remnants, another body turned up." She watched as Harry absorbed this, and then dropped out of sight, returning to her own cubicle.  
  
  
  
He got to his feet and stretched, then glanced at Malfoy's empty desk. The sign had apparently been charmed to change, as it blurred and new words formed while he watched. **When I Want Your Opinion, I'll Beat It Out Of You.** He flashed the sign a grim smile, and then strode purposefully out into the hall.   
  
  
  
Luna nearly crashed into him. The file she was holding spilled onto the floor, and the two of them knelt to pick it up. "Oh, Harry, it's another one," she said.   
  
  
  
"I know," he said, and snuck a quick glance at the file.  
  
  
  
"It's going to be terribly dangerous, with Malfoy still in the hospital and - I'm sorry, a broomelly just got into my ear. Did you just say _you know_?"  
  
  
  
He turned his attention back to her, and nodded. "What's the matter?"  
  
  
  
"Harry, we've only _just_ found the body. There's no way you could possibly know. Kingsley doesn't even know." There was a frightening clarity in her eyes as she studied him. "We'll discuss this later. I'm going with you as your temporary partner, as there were signs that the killer was still on the scene. We have _footprints,_ Harry."  
  
  
  
She sounded almost excited by it. For the first time in a long time, Harry was reminded that they'd both gotten into law enforcement willingly. No one had shoved Luna into being an Unspeakable. No one had held a wand to Harry's head when he'd gone through Auror training, so many years ago. The slow stalk, the chase, the thrill of capture, the joy of knowing there was one less Dark wizard out in the world harming people - it was what they both lived for.   
  
  
  
_Ron would have loved it,_ he thought, and for the first time in years, the thought of his best friend and surrogate brother didn't bring with it a surge of pain. As he stood there, facing Luna in the corridor of the DMLE, hands full of papers and a dead body waiting for him on the other side of the Apparation, he felt the last few chinks of armoured ice surrounding his heart crack and fall away. With a grin to answer her tone, he took her by the elbow. "What are we waiting for, then? Let's go get them!"   
  
  
  
She smiled blindingly at him. "Welcome back, Harry," she whispered, and Apparated them both to the scene of the crime.  
  
  
  
-o0o-  
  
  
  
Colin Creevey was there, carefully photographing everything. He stepped gingerly around the prints, capturing a shot of them from every conceivable angle while waiting for Luna to arrive and take casts of them.   
  
  
  
Twin cracks alerted him and the Unspeakable whose name he didn't know to the arrival of Potter and Luna, and he waved to them. "Over here," he called.  
  
  
  
The pair jogged over to him, and Luna immediately began filling the foot prints with a magical plaster pouring out of her wand. Potter crouched beside the body.   
  
  
  
"A field," he said, looking around. The ground was muddy from the rain, and the grass was trampled in the immediate vicinity of the body. "Any ID on the vic?" he called to Luna. She raised her head and shook it, her blonde hair falling into her eyes.   
  
  
  
"Not yet, Harry," she called back. Colin stopped with the footprints, and slid over to the body and began taking pictures of it.   
  
  
  
"Nasty business, this," he muttered. Potter looked up at him, startled.  
  
  
  
"Don't you work for the paper?"  
  
  
  
"Freelance," he said. "I actually work for the Ministry. Unbreakable vow of silence over what I see on this job, though." He was surprised; he and Potter usually missed one another when they were working the same cases, but even the times they'd been on the same scene at the same time, Potter never really noticed him. "Malfoy's been really good for you," he commented.   
  
  
  
Potter's reach for the body stopped midway, his body seemingly frozen. "Pardon?"  
  
  
  
Colin had no compunction about repeating himself, and he even snapped a picture of the slightly stunned, slightly warm expression on the other man's face. "Malfoy. Your partner? He's been good for you. I don't think you've ever even noticed I was around before-" the guilty expression that stole over Potter's famous features told him that he was absolutely correct, and he laughed it off. "He's still in the hospital, right?"  
  
  
  
"He took a direct hit from the Killing Curse and survived," Potter bit out.  
  
  
  
Colin awarded him a searching look. "Not so direct," he said quietly. "If the rumours are anything to go on. You stopped it with a Patronus charm."  
  
  
  
Potter looked as though he didn't particularly relish being reminded of that. "How did you know?"  
  
  
  
"Just because I'm bound to silence with what I do _here_ doesn't mean I can't talk about what I overhear at the Prophet's office." He shrugged one shoulder, and peered down at the body Potter was inspecting. "Truly nasty," he commented. "How someone could do this to another human being..." He trailed off, uncomfortable finishing his own sentence. Potter gingerly lifted the shredded remains of the teeshirt the victim had been wearing when they were attacked, and something caught his eye. "Hey now, what's that?"  
  
  
  
Luna joined them as he pointed to it, and she pointed her wand at the corpse and mumured a quiet spell. A bubble formed around a section of the shirt and lifted into the air. Encapsulated within it was a strand of blond hair.   
  
  
  
-o0o-  
  
  
  
Harry stared at the hair - combined with the footprints, they were almost sure to capture the person committing these horrible atrocities. It was all he could do to keep the smug grin off his face at the sight of it. The only troubling thing was, looking at it floating there in a magical bubble it could have belonged to any number of people. Luna, Creevey, Malfoy...  
  
  
  
He watched as Luna packed it away in a special bag designed to hold evidence, and then turned his attention back to the body. Creevey muttered something about being finished with the photographs, and Disapparated. She turned to him, eyes brilliant with emotion.  
  
  
  
"This could be it, Harry," she said softly. "This could be the last one. We might solve it with these."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh gawd. I've been reading Left My Heart by Emma Grant. Absolutely wonderful story, even if it is old as the hills. Thing is, I'm going to try to take a leaf out of her book, and ratchet up the suspense in this. You guys don't have nearly enough to work with, and I'm desperate to hear what ya'll think. Lots of suspects lining up now~
> 
> I've been desperately trying to keep some length to these chapters - especially after the disastrously short chapters from earlier in the story - but this one absolutely refuses to go any further for now, and it's better to pick it up later, in the hopes that it'll start flowing again. The good news is that I've written out the scene of their first kiss! Drarry on the way! Huzzah! The bad news is that it's not for at least two or three more chapters. But it'll definitely be there; I promise.


	14. Suspect

**_Hope and pray that you'll never need me,  
But rest assured I will not let you down.  
I'll walk beside you but you may not see me,  
The strongest among you may not wear a crown._** _  
\-- 3 Doors Down - Citizen Soldiers_  
-o0o-  
  
  
  
With the print casts and hair strand in the hands of the Unspeakables, Harry found himself with nothing to do. He almost wished for his apathy back; now that he'd begun caring, he couldn't stop. This was possibly the most important case in hundreds of years, and there was just _nothing_ he could do about it.  
  
  
  
When Kingsley finally got fed up with his pacing, he sent Harry home. "The results of the tests will be back later today, tomorrow at the latest," he said. "You're not doing anyone any good right now. Get out of my office."   
  
  
  
Harry complied without complaint, and then found himself pacing back and forth in his living room. He was preparing to floo over to St. Mungo's and check on his partner, when his front door opened, and a cheerful voice called out to him.  
  
  
  
"I'm back, Potter, did you miss me?"   
  
  
  
Harry flung the powder back into the bag on his mantleplace and then turned to scowl at his partner. "Didn't your mum ever teach you to knock?"  
  
  
  
"Mi casa es su casa," Malfoy said, shrugging and helping himself into Harry's kitchen. Harry heard him put the kettle on and prepare two mugs.   
  
  
  
"What the devil does that mean?"  
  
  
  
"It means my house is your house. And vice versa." Malfoy poured instant coffee into one of the mugs, and then eyed the level in the jar. "You need more of this," he said.  
  
  
  
"You drank it all," Harry pointed out. Malfoy flashed him a brilliant smile.   
  
  
  
"It's good," he said. "So, aren't you going to ask me why I'm here? How was my stay in the hospital, and all that jazz?"  
  
  
  
Harry leaned against the door-frame, and watched Malfoy make coffee and tea simultaneously. He'd gotten good at it, and Harry wasn't sure if he appreciated that Malfoy was here often enough to know where everything in his kitchen was or not. "Alright," he said at last. "How was your stay in the hospital?"  
  
  
  
"So glad you asked," Malfoy said. "Miserable. Hospital food tastes like it was taken out of the garbage three weeks ago and then left in the back of the fridge before it was brought out and cooked. I'm perishing for a cup of decent coffee and something that's actually edible." He paused in his search of Harry's cupboards and gave his partner a searching look. "You do have edible food in this flat, do you not?"  
  
  
  
Harry shrugged. "I suppose so," he said uncertainly. Malfoy twinkled at him, all smiles once again.   
  
  
  
"Good. Now shoo. Have you eaten yet? I'll make us something for..." He checked the clock quickly. "Lunch."   
  
  
  
Harry found himself sitting on his couch, listening to Malfoy bang about in his kitchen, and wondered how he'd let the blond man bully him into submitting. "Martha Stewart," he muttered again. First the cubicle - _plants,_ Harry thought despairingly - and now the cooking. _Is he going to come and do my laundry as well? It's like having a wife around._  
  
  
  
Malfoy appeared behind him, and reached out with a mug of tea. Harry froze mid-reach as his own thoughts caught up to him. He stared up at Malfoy, suddenly picturing him with a ponytail holding up long blond hair and a frilly apron as he swept up the dust that had collected-  
  
  
  
"Potter?"  
  
  
  
Harry came back to himself with a jerk, trying to ignore how ... home-like the imaginary scene had seemed, and reminded himself that he'd broken it off with Ginny for a reason, and that she had married a bloke from Beauxbatons and currently resided in France with him. "Sorry. Thanks," he added, and accepted the mug. He stared into it, watching the way it slopped up the sides of the mug as his hand shook slightly.   
  
  
  
Malfoy seated himself on the couch facing Harry, and took his mug in both hands, not drinking it. He fixed Harry with a piercing stare. "Alright Potter, talk."   
  
  
  
"Pardon?"  
  
  
  
"Something's bothering you. Now talk."   
  
  
  
_Hell would freeze first,_ Harry asserted silently, and then briefed Malfoy on what they'd found while he was in St. Mungo's.  
  
  
  
"Fan-bloody-tastic," Malfoy muttered. "I'm out of commission for two days, and you go off and prove how much better you are without a partner."  
  
  
  
"I had a partner with me," Harry argued. "Luna was there acting as stand-in-" _because no one else can stand me-_ "and it was Creevey who found the hair in the first place."  
  
  
  
"Creevey? Colin Creevey, head-of-your-fanclub Creevey?"  
  
  
  
"I don't have a fanclub."  
  
  
  
Malfoy's tone was bland. "Do you not?"  
  
  
  
"No, I do not."   
  
  
  
  
"Suit yourself. So this means we have a lead to a suspect." He sounded excited, and Harry realised that no one had bent his arm into joining the Auror corps, either. He insisted it was just to pass time until his Potions Mastership, but he could have done anything - or nothing.   
  
  
  
"Why did you join the Aurors?"  
  
  
  
"I told you; I had a year to kill before I can take the Potions test again and-"  
  
  
  
"I know that. But you could have spent the time practising, or doing nothing. Why the Aurors?"  
  
  
  
Malfoy stared broodingly into his cup. "I wanted to," he said after a while. "My family doesn't have... the best reputation. With Lucius still in Azkaban, my mother is in disgrace. After everything I did at Hogwarts-" He flinched at his own words, then forged onwards. "After everything I did as a child, it was the least I could do to make amends."   
  
  
  
"I see."   
  
  
  
-o0o-  
  
  
  
There was something different about Potter, he realised. It wasn't something specific that he could put his finger down on; just a general air of _differentness_ around him.   
  
  
  
Draco sipped at his coffee, and watched Potter from beneath his lashes. His partner seemed different, there was no doubt about that. It was his eyes, Draco decided after a moment. They'd brightened, as though a veil had been lifted from them. He wondered if he'd had anything to do with that; Potter's reaction to seeing the Killing Curse flying towards him had been to cast a Patronus charm. _Should I take offense to the fact that he managed to dredge up a happy memory at seeing my imminent death?_ Or had Draco's imminent death _been_ the happy memory? No, he decided. Potter would have simply allowed it to strike if he'd wanted his partner dead that badly. He could have done nothing and written it off as an accident, but intsead he'd thought quick enough to cast a spell - one that ought not to have worked, but did - to at least _try_ and save Draco.   
  
  
  
_I nearly died,_ he thought suddenly.   
  
  
  
"What are you thinking about?"  
  
  
  
"I nearly died," Draco said automatically, and then flicked his eyes back to Potter. The other man was pale, and his eyes were searching as he stared into Draco's.   
  
  
  
"You should have," he said, then flinched. "I didn't mean it like that," he added quickly. "I meant... a Patronus should not have stopped the Killing Curse."  
  
  
  
Draco buried the flash of hurt that flared up with Potter's words, and then nodded slowly. "You were saved by your mother's love," he said. "I was saved by ... your good memories. Good things," he added. "Love and happiness - it makes sense."   
  
  
  
"There's actually talk of calling you The Man Who Lived," Potter said, somewhat off-handedly. Draco did the undignified thing and gaped at him.  
  
  
  
"There's not," he said incredulously, and then had the second biggest shock of his life as a smile spread across Potter's face.  
  
  
  
"No," he agreed. "I'm having you on."   
  
  
  
"Wanker."  
  
  
  
"Prat."  
  
  
  
Draco laughed in spite of himself. "My mother owled me in the hospital," he said suddenly. "I'm to invite you for dinner at the manor."   
  
  
  
Potter sobered abruptly. "Tonight?"  
  
  
  
Draco shrugged. "Whenever you'd like to come over. Preferably within the week."  
  
  
  
There was a hesitant pause. "Tonight's fine."   
  
  
  
Draco smiled again, and then lifted his coffee in a toast.  
  
  
  
-o0o-  
  
  
  
Narcissa leaned in and kissed Potter's cheek when they came in through the floo. "Thank you for saving my son's life," she said warmly. Potter looked slightly flabbergasted by the motion, but recovered his wits with aplomb.  
  
  
  
"He would do nothing less for me - er - ma'am," he said stiffly. Draco smiled again involuntarily as Narcissa opened the door out of the floo room. Potter leaned over, and out of the corner of his mouth, whispered to Draco, "You have a _floo room?_ "  
  
  
  
At least a dozen fireplaces lined the walls, but Draco spared it barely a glance before shooting Potter a helpless look. "It's been Malfoy Manor since it was built," he explained. "Each succeeding Malfoy tried to outdo the last by adding more onto the main building."   
  
  
  
Potter looked uncomfortable, but strode bravely into the hallway after Narcissa. "You have a beautiful house, Mrs. Malfoy," Draco heard him saying as he hurried to catch up.   
  
  
  
"Thank you Mr. Potter. Please, call me Narcissa."   
  
  
  
"Harry, then."   
  
  
  
"Harry," Narcissa agreed. "Would you like to see the rest of it?"   
  
  
  
Potter shifted his feet, and then turned a dazzling smile on her. "I would love to," he said with perfect charm, and proffered his arm for her to hold. Narcissa turned and shot Draco a knowing look coupled with a secretive smile as she took his arm, and began leading him on a tour of the house.  
  
  
  
Draco, who'd been exploring the vast halls of his own home since he was old enough to toddle around, excused himself gravely and retired to the dining room to wait.   
  
  
  
-o0o-  
  
  
  
Narcissa lead him on a detailed tour that didn't take as long as Harry had expected it to. He was keen on the library, but flushed embarrassedly when she picked up on it.   
  
  
  
"I see I have something that captured your interest, Harry," she said gracefully. Harry felt like a perfect clod beside her, but nodded politely, hoping that he wouldn't make too much of a fool of himself.   
  
  
  
"Hermione would have loved it here," he said, and then flushed as he recalled the last time she'd been in Malfoy Manor. "The library," he clarified for his own sake. "She always loved books most of all. I never understood it until she was gone, and I found myself reading more to fill the time."   
  
  
  
Narcissa's expression was reminiscent of Luna's in its mystery. After a moment, she said, "You may return to the Manor whenever you'd like and make use of our library."  
  
  
  
Harry gaped for a moment before recovering himself. "I-I couldn't," he began, but she cut him off.  
  
  
  
"Tut tut. With Lucius - gone, and Draco away in his own flat, the house is miserably empty with just myself to fill it. I would ... appreciate the company once and a while, if you've the time."  
  
  
  
 _Well, when she puts it like that,_ he thought, and then gallantly plastered a smile on his face. "Then I accept your invitation," he said. "You'll probably be sick of me before long."  
  
  
  
"I highly doubt that ... Harry." She offered him a smile in return, and for a moment Harry could see the beauty she had been in her younger years. Now that he thought of it, all of the Blacks had been beautiful. Sirius' was more masculine, and had been twisted by his time in Azkaban, but was clear in pictures Harry had seen of him during Hogwarts. Even Bellatrix was beautiful, though he was loathe to admit that, even silently. Narcissa interrupted his thoughts by offering to show him to the dining room.   
  
  
  
"Thank you," he said again, and wondered at the strangeness of it all. _Ron would probably have a heart attack at the thought of me visiting with Narcissa Malfoy, if the shock of my being partnered with Draco didn't kill him outright._  
  
  
  
"Sickle for your thoughts?"  
  
  
  
"Oh," Harry said, and then stumbled slightly over a rug. "I was thinking of Ron," he finished uncertainly.   
  
  
  
"A tragedy that he was taken so young," Narcissa said, and Harry could detect no trace of mockery in her aristocratic tone. "I realise that my family and you have never been on the best of terms," she she began. "But I am glad that you have been able to put some of it behind you and speak so frankly with me."  
  
  
  
"It's ... I've needed someone to talk to, as well," Harry admitted. "Luna and Mal- er- Draco... we went to school together. There's history there. There's not a lot of history between the two of us." Even as the words were coming out of his mouth, he remembered a dark forest, and Narcissa leaning over him and then proclaiming him to be dead.  
  
  
  
Narcissa gave him a grateful look, and then two large doors swung open to reveal a grand dining hall, the first quarter of a long table laden with food. Malfoy stood at their entrance, and Narcissa ushered him over to the table. They sat in unison, and began eating, Harry surreptitiously glancing over at Malfoy to see if he was doing anything wrong.   
  
  
  
When they were done, Narcissa neatly folded her hands in front of her, and then coughed politely. "Harry," she said quietly. "It's recently come to my attention that the Potter house has been rediscovered. I bought it immediately, of course, but haven't touched it - if you'd like I can hand the deeds over to you and you may go through it at your leisure."  
  
  
  
Harry stared at her uncomprehendingly. "The... Potter house?" His first thought was that in Godric's Hollow.  
  
  
  
"The Potters were purebloods, Potter," Malfoy said easily. "Most purebloods have a family estate. Malfoy Manor is ours."  
  
  
  
"You'd... do that?" Harry couldn't seem to get his jaws to work correctly. He was glad Narcissa had waited until they were done eating to drop her bomb in his lap - he'd worked so hard to keep his manners up to par that he didn't think half-chewed food visible in his gaping mouth would have been a splendid end to the evening.   
  
  
  
"I did," Narcissa said, and withdrew a small packet of papers from her robes and handed it to him. "It's the very least I could do to... repay you, for everything you've done."  
  
  
  
 _Keeping Draco out of Azkaban so many years ago,_ Harry realised. _Getting Lucius' sentence commuted to life instead of the Kiss. Stopping the Curse from striking._ "I... Thank you." He was utterly shamed by the tears that began welling up in his eyes, and he surreptitiously wiped them away. "Thank you."   
  
  
  
-o0o-  
  
  
  
When Harry returned to his flat after dinner, he set the papers down on the coffee table and stared at them. He could hardly believe what Narcissa had done for him.   
  
  
  
He sat down immediately and penned two notes, one to Kingsley and another to the Minister, asking them to find a way to reintegrate the Malfoys into polite society. A public pardon, an invitation to the most influential parties, anything he could possibly do to repay them for what she'd done. _It's not much,_ he told himself. _Giving them their reputation back won't pay for my ancestral home, not by half. But it's what Draco wants, and Narcissa needs to be able to socialise again. It's a start._  
  
  
  
After Hedwig, he'd never bothered to get another owl, and he Apparated to the Owl Post to send them off. When he returned, a strange black owl was fluttering at his window, tapping spastically. He opened the window and it flew in, leaving a dropping on his couch with a dirty look. Harry scowled at it, but took the letter from it's foot.  
  
  
  
 _My dearest Mister Potter,_ it started. _I have some... rather_ interesting _information as to the whereabouts of the Pureblood Killer. Meet me behind Knockturn Alley, in Per Petyu Alley. I'll give you the name of the person you're looking for.  
Cheers,  
A Friend_  
  
  
  
Harry was stunned. He looked up to check the owl out again, but it was gone. There was no specific time mentioned, and he drew his wand and Apparated. Just before he vanished another owl swooped in through his window, hooting in alarm, and then his flat was replaced by the dark, run-down Per Petyu Alley. The fore-runner of Diagon Alley, Per Petyu Alley had been abandoned for years.   
  
  
  
He lit his wand with a quiet _lumos_ , and leaned against a broken lamp post to wait. He wasn't there long before a quick set of footsteps alerted him to the fact that he was no longer alone.  
  
  
  
"I'm so glad to see you here, Harry," the person said. "I've been dying to tell you for so long."  
  
  
  
He frowned; the voice was familiar, but he couldn't place it. "Who are you?"   
  
  
  
A quiet chuckle. "I'm the Pureblood Killer," the hooded person whispered. The tiny slip of a figure before him put both hands to the massive hood covering their face. Harry tightened his grip around his wand, prepared for any eventuality when the face of the murderer was revealed.  
  
  
  
The hood drew back. Delicate elfin features framed by turquoise blue hair greeted him, and he nearly dropped his wand in abject surprise.  
  
  
  
"Silena Sinder?" he gasped out, and found that every single spell he'd ever learned had suddenly abandoned him in his shock. _How could Sinder be behind those murders?_  
  
  
  
"Anita Littlewood will be greatly pleased that you will no longer be a thorn in our side," Sinder said icily.   
  
  
  
"I don't-"  
  
  
  
"Of course you don't understand," Sinder crooned madly. "It's _love_ , Potter. Someone like you could never understand love." She reached for something inside her robes, moving quicker than he thought possible. He suddenly found himself staring down the barrel of a muggle gun. "Say hello to Granger and Weasley for me, okay?" She tittered, and the Killing Curse was on the tip of his tongue. Before the words formed in his mouth, however, a thunderous rapport echoed in the small space and fiery heat blossomed in his chest.  
  
  
  
He fell backwards in what seemed like slow motion. _She shot me,_ he realised. _Draco..._ The world around him went grey, and then faded to black.


	15. Kiss

**_See the stars from a million places  
Porcelain skin puts our faces entwined in time  
Never lost my way for you  
Felt it all around me_** _  
\-- A Skylit Drive - City on the Edge of Forever_  
-o0o-  
  
  
  
Harry awoke to the sensation of pressure, and a heavy stare boring into his face. His eyes fluttered open, and he jerked backwards as well as he was able, his head striking the pillow beneath him as he found himself faced with a silvery-grey basilisk stare.  
  
  
  
Come to think of it, considering how angry Malfoy looked, he'd _rather_ have gotten into a staring match with a basilisk.   
  
  
  
"Morning, Draco," he said as cheerfully as he could.  
  
  
  
"You absolute _bastard,_ " Malfoy hissed. "What the fuck were you thinking, rushing off to confront the murderer like that? You could have been _killed._ "  
  
  
  
Malfoy didn't know. No one knew except him. They were all in horrible danger, especially himself and Malfoy - he hadn't been meant to survive that gunshot. "How long have I been out?"   
  
  
  
"Three days, you _prat_." Malfoy's hands were on his shoulders then, and Harry found that he was actually _climbing onto the bed_ to loom above him properly and shook him none too gently. "You scared the fuck out of me. I've never - there was so much blood - you were so pale - I thought you were _dead!_ "  
  
  
  
Harry blinked at him in surprise for a moment, watching the play of emotions across Malfoy's face. "I'm not," he said mildly.  
  
  
  
"You stupid, idiotic, bastard son of a bitch," Malfoy murmured, tangling his hands in Harry's hair. "don't you ever fucking do that to me again."   
  
  
  
"I don't intend to," Harry said, his tone light. Malfoy's eyes darkened until they were the colour of soot.   
  
  
  
"Take me seriously, goddammit!" He slammed his hands into the pillow on either side of Harry's head. Harry found himself growing angry with Malfoy's temper tantrum, and gathered his strength, flipping them over so that Malfoy was on his back on the narrow hospital bed and Harry was the one looming above him.  
  
  
  
"Don't worry so much!" Harry shouted right back. "I've die- I've nearly died so many times I've lost count! It's not important!"  
  
  
  
"Like hell it's not important!"  
  
  
  
"I'm an _Auror,_ Malfoy, it's what I _do!_ "  
  
  
  
"No it's bloody well not! What the fuck do you expect me to do all the time? Sit at home and _knit!?_ "  
  
  
  
"What? Of course not! Where did you even come up with such a stupid idea?"  
  
  
  
"I don't know, you tell me! You're the one who's got some sort of suicidal _death wish!_ "  
  
  
  
Harry kissed him. Malfoy blinked owlishly at him, but it was no more than a second or two before he closed his eyes and opened his mouth, and then they were snogging like two teenage boys, Harry still kneeling above Malfoy, who was stretched out on his bed.  
  
  
  
"Merciful heavens," gasped an unfamiliar voice from the door. The two Aurors sprang apart guiltily, and Harry felt as though McGonagall had walked in on him at Hogwarts. "Mister Potter," the woman continued, scandalised. "You're _injured!_ And Malfoy! You - I can only surmise that this is, in fact, your doing in some way!"   
  
  
  
They launched into explanations in unison, both talking at once. The Medi-Witch held up a hand and halted their spate of talking. "I don't want to know," she said. "Mr. Potter, please lay back down. You've taken a serious injury, and need to rest. Mr. Malfoy, I'm ashamed of you! Encouraging such behavior!"  
  
  
  
Harry reluctantly sat down on the bed, his legs hanging over the side. "I can't rest," he said. "I need to get back to work. Malfoy, it's Sinder."   
  
  
  
"What?!"   
  
  
  
  
"Sinder's the killer! And she's involved with Mrs. Littlewood somehow! We've got to get them both under arrest _right now!_ "  
  
  
  
"You'll do no such thing!" scolded the Medi-Witch. "What part of _you nearly died_ didn't make it through that thick head of yours?!"  
  
  
  
"I'll get on it," Malfoy promised, and then his eyes lingered on Harry's face, the grey smouldering like banked coals. "We'll finish this conversation later." He vanished from the room. Harry reluctantly let the Medi-Witch push him back onto the bed and cast her diagnostic spells.  
  
  
  
-o0o-  
  
  
  
Draco hurried down the halls of St. Mungo's, his mind whirling with the events of the last few days. Granger had died quietly in her sleep - Harry still didn't know, he realised with sudden horror - and he'd almost lost Harry, too.   
  
  
  
He didn't know how to feel about that. He'd discovered Harry was missing the morning after; everyone assumed that he'd taken the day off after receiving the news about his friend, and Draco Apparated into his flat to check on him, and bring him some soup. The empty apartment set him on edge, but it wasn't until he saw the owl in the corner, it's note unread, that he truly began to worry.  
  
  
  
If he hadn't found the letter from the killer, he'd have gone mad with anxiety. _I'm sure he's turned more than a few hairs grey,_ he thought. He Apparated directly into Per Petyu Alley, and was greeted by the ashen face of his partner lying in a pool of blood. _I may never recover from that,_ he griped to himself. His heart stopped fully in his chest for the span of three whole beats, and he burst into a flurry of motion, gathering his partner up into his arms and doing his best not to jostle him too much.   
  
  
  
With Harry unconscious, they had no way of knowing who had sent the note, or what was going on. But now Harry was awake, and he'd named Silena Sinder - _That blue haired bitch,_ \- and Mrs. Littlewood. An unlikely pair, to be sure, but until Harry was back at top form, Draco wasn't going to be allowed anywhere near either of them.   
  
  
  
He swung his fist into the wall suddenly. "Damn!"  
  
  
  
Ignoring the strange looks he was receiving from visitors and hospital staff alike, he continued on his way out the door, ignoring the throbbing from his hand.   
  
  
  
He apparated straight into Shacklebolt's office, and a fierce glare sent the Auror in conference with him scurrying out of the room.  
  
  
  
"Mr. Malfoy, I certainly hope you have a good excuse for destroying the wards around my office and interrupting a very important mee-"  
  
  
  
"Silena Sinder is the killer. She confessed to Harry. He's awake." Draco threw the words down like a gauntlet, in no mood to deal with Shacklebolt's antagonism.  
  
  
  
"What? Sinder can't possibly be-" He was interrupted by the door opening.  
  
  
  
"She is," Luna interjected, closing the door quietly behind her. "Tests on the hair came back five minutes ago. We ran the magical signature against everyone in the Ministry as a control, but she came up positive. And, she told Harry about the murder before we'd even discovered the body. We found traces of mud from the field in her office."  
  
  
  
The door opened again after a brief knock. Sinder's partner poked his head in, and frowned when he saw Luna and Draco already there. "Shacklebolt, have you seen Silena? She's extremely late today, and I can't reach her on floo."   
  
  
  
Luna, Draco, and Kingsley shared a look. "Thank you," Shacklebolt said. "I'll look into it. Return to your work."  
  
  
  
"Yes sir," the man said, and ducked back out of the office. Draco's heart was in his throat, his mind a whirl of thoughts he couldn't pin down.  
  
  
  
"We need to find Sinder," Shacklebolt said. "Draco, check out her apartment-"  
  
  
  
"She won't be there," he said, a sudden revelation becoming clear. "No, we need to go check out Littlewood's house. They're... involved."   
  
  
  
"You're not going there alone," Shacklebolt said. Luna raised her hand.  
  
  
  
"I'll go with him," she offered. He looked at both of them, and then nodded briefly.   
  
  
  
"Be careful," he said. "She's armed with extensive knowledge of the Dark Arts _and_ a muggle firearm. This makes her the most dangerous criminal we've apprehended in nearly fifty years. My best is already down and out because of her; I don't need to lose either of you on the eve of the collar."   
  
  
  
"We'll be fine," Draco said confidently. "Let's go, Luna." They filed out and Apparated to Littlewood's house, wands drawn and ready.   
  
  
  
-o0o-  
  
  
  
A strange woman answered the door. "Oh. Auror Malfoy. What a pleasant surprise. I'm very sorry to hear about your partner, but I see you've traded up."  
  
  
  
"I need to speak to Anita Littlewood," Draco said sternly, flashing his Auror credentials. "Now."   
  
  
  
The woman - an attractive, dark haired woman in her thirties - smiled seductively. "I don't really think-"  
  
  
  
"Mrs. Littlewood," Luna interjected. "You're looking quite well."  
  
  
  
Draco shot her a horrified look, and then peered closer at the woman in the doorway. She could have been Littlewood's daughter - or Littlewood herself, fourty years younger.   
  
  
  
"Annie? Who's at the door, baby?"  
  
  
  
"You're under arrest!" Draco shouted, and cast _incarcerous_ on Anita Littlewood. Silena Sinder stood behind her lover, dressed in a bathrobe with sleep-mussed hair. She gaped at Draco, and then drew her wand and Apparated. " _Fuck!_ "  
  
  
  
"Language, young man," Littlewood chided from within her bonds. "I know where she's gone. It was a beautiful dream while it lasted. Thank you for giving us these last few nights together."   
  
  
  
"You'll talk?" Luna asked mildly, and Draco was gratified by Littlewood's nod. He set a Portkey on her shoulder, and waited until it took the formerly old woman into a holding cell in the Ministry before he and Luna Apparated back to the DMLE.  
  
  
  
-o0o-  
  
  
  
"Luna, you've got to go tell Harry we lost Sinder, but have Littlewood. He's in room 594, St. Mungo's." Draco talked quickly, opening the door as he spoke. She nodded, and Disapparated. He strode into the building, and went directly down to the jail.  
  
  
  
"Vial of Veritaserum," he asked the man behind the counter just outside the cell block. He signed for the vial, and took it to Littlewood. She obediently opened her mouth, then pursed her lips seductively as he stood back to let it work.  
  
  
  
"Your full name," he asked.  
  
  
  
"Anita Marianne Littlewood."  
  
  
  
"Your age?"  
  
  
  
"Seventy three."  
  
  
  
"Your involvement with Silena Sinder."  
  
  
  
"About twenty years ago, I had dealings with her mother. We traded in magical blades and weaponry for several years, something Silena showed great aptitude for. We grew to be friends. Eventually, the more time we spent together, we realised we were falling in love, but I knew it could never work; I was far too old, and she was just beginning her career in the Aurors."  
  
  
  
Draco wrote her words down as she spoke, and then leveled a measured look on her. "How did this lead to the murders?"  
  
  
  
"Silena never gave up on her loves, not of me, and not of dealing in magical weapons. She happened across a knife that stored the life energy of those killed with it, and transferred it to another human being. Most people, historically, made use of the knife to gain eternal life, but Silena... she wasn't interested in living forever. We decided to use it to youthen me, so that we could be together."  
  
  
  
  
"How does this tie in to all the calls you made to Shacklebolt's office?"  
  
  
  
"At first it was an excuse to see Silena, but then they began sending Auror Potter to see me. Shortly afterwards, someone began creeping around my house. I thought it might be Potter, but after Silena found out, she set some new wards up. We discovered it was Rafe Fliven - he'd found out our secret somehow, and was looking to - oh, I don't know, get some credit for stopping us. He was rejected from the MLE, you see, several years ago. Perhaps he wanted to prove that he was unworthy of his failure, and wanted a second chance. I don't know."  
  
  
  
"Why purebloods?"  
  
  
  
"I _am_ a pureblood, Auror Malfoy. I don't want my youth tainted by a filthy mudblood or even a halfblood. No, only pureblooded na's idea and wizards would do. It was Silena's idea to target the purebloods with little to no family - they wouldn't be missed immediately, you see. I wasn't expecting her to lead Auror Potter to Per Petyu Alley - I was rather sad to hear that she'd shot him, especially after finding out that he was indeed pureblood. I would have dearly liked to have invited your mother out to tea one day, Auror Malfoy, we did get on so well in our younger years. But after she took out Potter, it did give us a few, wonderful days together in which I could enjoy the fruits of her labour."  
  
  
  
"Where is Silena Sinder now, Mrs. Littlewood?"  
  
  
  
Littlewood smiled again. "I imagine she's gone back to Per Petyu Alley. It was always her favourite place as a child."  
  
  
  
"You will remain here under Ministry authority until your trial which will be set by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement's head, Kingsley Shacklebolt. I will strongly suggest the Kiss for both of you." Draco walked calmly back out of the cell block, and then Apparated to Per Petyu Alley.  
  
  
-o0o-  
  
  
Silena couldn't seem to stop crying. _I almost had her!_ she thought bitterly. "Damn him to _hell!_ " Damn Potter. Apathetic, unloved, bastard. _He should have died. I should have shot him again. I should have aimed for his head. Anything to keep that damn busybody Malfoy out of our business._  
  
  
  
She heard the crack of Apparation, and wiped her eyes, readying her gun. She had only one bullet loaded, the bullet she was prepared to use on herself. With all her dreams shattered, she had no reason to continue. They'd apprehended Anita, which probably meant the person in the Alley with her was here on Anita's information.   
  
  
  
A sob escaped her before she could stop it, and she clapped a hand over her mouth to catch the sound. It was too late; someone turned the corner, wand trained on her.   
  
  
  
Unwilling to face her fate crouched on the ground like a common criminal, she took a deep breath and rose to her feet.  
  
  
  
"Silena Sinder, you are under arrest for the murder of Rafe Fliven, Sheea Nader, and Albert Prewett. Drop your weapons and put your hands in the air."   
  
  
  
"Malfoy," she spat. "Filthy blood-traitor."  
  
  
  
"You're one to talk," he retorted, scowling. Overhead, the sky crackled with thunder and lightning illuminated the dark alley.   
  
  
  
"I won't," she whispered. Thunder rolled overhead, echoing strangely in the enclosed spaces between the abandoned buildings.   
  
  
  
"Drop your weapons," Malfoy repeated, inching slowly towards her. " _Incarc-_ "  
  
  
  
"No!" She jerked the gun up, and aimed for his head. "You bastard! It's all your fault! You took Annie from me!" The harsh sound in her voice startled even herself, and she squeezed the trigger.  
  
  
  
" **No!** " Something jerked her arm upwards just as she completed the squeeze, and the bullet fired harmlessly into the stone walls above her. " _Incarcerous,_ " hissed a familiar voice. "You're under arrest, Sinder."  
  
  
  
Malfoy's face was white in the lightning flash, and she glanced over her shoulder and locked gazes with a pair of fierce green eyes. "Games up, Sinder," Potter said as the magical ropes settled around her body. Her knees weakened, but he held her up easily when she would have collapsed to the ground in tears again.   
  
  
  
"Someone like you wouldn't understand love," she spat.   
  
  
  
"I don't believe in love," Potter replied quietly. The world around her dissolved and she felt a tug behind her navel as a portkey activated and deposited her in a cell beside Anita. They shared a kiss between the bars.


	16. Epilogue

**_I'll be waiting for you, in my heart you are the one  
If I cannot find you, I will look up to the sun  
If from where you're standing, you can see the sky above  
I'll be waiting for you, if you still believe in love_** _  
\-- Elsa Raven - If You Still Believe (Legend of the Dragoon)_  
-o0o-  
  
  
  
...One Month Later...  
  
  
  
"Thank you, Narcissa. Thank you so much for this."  
  
  
  
"Oh, Harry, think nothing of it. You've done... _so much._ A housewarming party was the least I could do."   
  
  
  
Narcissa inclined her head and lifted her champagne flute towards him, setting off the entire group of people that surrounded them. Harry felt himself flush at the attention. Narcissa hid her smile behind her glass, and waved politely to the milling crowd.  
  
  
  
Draco took up on the hastily constructed stage in the grand ball room of the Potter's Ancestral House, and clinked a fork against his glass. "May I have your attention please?" The crowd quieted and turned to him. Harry's face turned even redder, and he attempted to hide his face. Even all these years later, he still hated to be the center of attention. Narcissa was having none of it, however, and she took his arm, and admonished him with a single look that spoke volumes. He subsided, and waited to see what Draco would say.  
  
  
  
Nearly all of the DMLE - Aurors and Unspeakables alike - were gathered in his new home, as well as old friends of his and family of old friends; nearly all the Weasley's were there (after he made efforts to get the Malfoy name restored to it's former, pre-war glory, Narcissa had repaid him doubly by getting in contact with Mrs. Weasley and explaining the situation to her.) and Luna's father was standing beside his daughter near the back.  
  
  
  
"Harry and I didn't exactly get on in school," Draco began, and was met with general laughter. He smiled, and took it in stride. "Alright, we were mortal enemies - or so I thought at the time. If I'd had any real idea of what he went through every year, I wouldn't have been so quick to judge him." The crowd sobered abruptly, and Draco matched his expression to theirs. "And instead of fading quietly into the background after Voldemort was gone, he went on to become the single greatest Auror the Department of Magical Law Enforcement has ever seen."  
  
  
  
A cheer went up. Harry hunched his shoulders and tried to hide his face in Narcissa's robes. She patted him on the back, and forced his head up. "Pay attention, Harry," she murmured out of the corner of her mouth. He took a deep breath and straightened his spine.  
  
  
  
"Harry has seen some horrible things in the past few months that we've been partners. Awful, awful murders that would give most normal people nightmares. And the death of his long-time friend, Hermione Granger, a victim of the war, but brave to the very end."   
  
  
  
The entire room fell utterly silent as if on cue. No one so much as shifted their feet.   
  
  
  
When it was over, Draco raised his hand, and thanked them. "Today we're here to celebrate Harry Potter - the good, the bad, and this fabulous house!"  
  
  
  
A thunderous cheer went up. "Fabulous?" Harry asked under his breath, leaning close to Narcissa so that she could hear him.  
  
  
  
She smiled, and didn't bother to hide it this time. "Certainly you knew about my son, Harry?"   
  
  
  
"Knew what?"   
  
  
  
"I believe the American term for it is 'Gayer than a football bat.'"  
  
  
  
Harry choked on his champagne. Narcissa patted him gently on the back as he recovered, and he wiped delicately at his mouth with a napkin. "You can't be serious."   
  
  
  
"Why would I joke about something of that nature?"  
  
  
  
Harry turned back to his partner and suddenly saw him with new eyes. The plants in the cubicle. The cooking, and cleaning, the tea - all of it suddenly made sense. With the lights of the makeshift stage shining down on him, he was bathed in an ethereal glow. His hair formed a golden halo around his face, and his eyes flashed with laughter. "I see," he said. Narcissa buried her triumphant smirk in her champagne glass.  
  
  
  
"I'm certain you do now, Harry."   
  
  
  
-o0o-  
  
  
  
Draco stepped down off the stage, and mingled a bit. Luna approached him with a mischievous smile on her face. "Have you seen Harry?"   
  
  
  
Draco blinked and then scanned the crowd. "No, I haven't," he said thoughtfully. "It would be just like him to duck out of his own party," he grumbled. "Do you know where he's at?"   
  
  
  
"I saw him last on the balcony," she hinted, and then faded into the milling people. Draco watched her go, and then turned to the balcony. The full moon was just rising over the tree line, and he could see Potter's unmistakeable hair silhouetted in the light. Draco plucked two champagne flutes off of a passing waiters tray, and marched purposely towards the balcony.   
  
  
  
As if sensing him, Harry turned as he stepped out into the moonlight. "Happy Housewarming," he mumured, handing the glass over. Harry clinked it against Draco's, and gave him a warm smile.  
  
  
  
"Thank you for the party," Harry said. "It's... beautiful."   
  
  
  
"The party?"  
  
  
  
"The house. Everything." Harry gazed at him speculatively. "I owe you my life."  
  
  
  
"I owe you mine."  
  
  
  
"We're partners," Harry said negligently. "It's going to happen a lot more often in the next few months."  
  
  
  
"Just months?"  
  
  
  
"When you get your Potions Mastership, you're dropping out of the Aurors, aren't you? You never intended to stay more than a year. I know you didn't."  
  
  
  
"Things change," Draco said simply. He sighed, and turned his attention to the moon, watching it steadily gain altitude. "Do you really not believe in love?"  
  
  
  
Harry was silent for a long time.   
  
  
  
"Harry?"  
  
  
  
"Things change."   
  
  
  
Draco set his glass down on the ledge, and looked at his partner. Harry was resolutely not looking at him. "Harry?" he repeated softly.  
  
  
  
Harry stared out over the trees. "I'm ... no good, Draco," he said. "I'm gruff, and grouchy, and I only drink coffee when you're not there, and I gave up on love a long time ago, but for some reason I can't-"  
  
  
  
Draco kissed him. This time it was no chaste joining of lips - he forced Harry's mouth open by nipping at his lower lip, and then slid his tongue inside, exploring every nook and cranny. Harry's arms went around his shoulder, and Draco found himself being kissed back.  
  
  
  
Harry pulled away suddenly, and looked into Draco's eyes. "I do," he said. "I still believe in love."  
  
  
  
 **THE END.**

**Author's Note:**

> I was reading Gay Aurors, by charlottesometimes, and thought to myself, that I've been writing a list of fics that most authors write at least one of in their writing careers (Veela fics, dark!harry, leather trousered-Draco, auror fics. XD) and that I haven't yet written an auror fic, and immediately sat down to write one. As always, everything else is in progress, but i'll be honest, and say that little progress is being made on anything at the moment.
> 
> This is also my opportunity for Dark!Harry, and possibly Leather Trousered-Draco.


End file.
